


The Tinman and The Devil

by snapdragonpop007



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1950s, Case Fic, Closeted Character, Detective Noir, Homophobic Language, I have been planning this for months, Internalized Homophobia, Light Bondage, Multi, Murder, Ricky and Night Night are twins, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Small Towns, Tinsley has a very loose moral code, and Ricky doesn't have one, and i'm finally getting around to it, how could i not do something, i was given a outlandish cast of characters, i'm messing with case logic and timelines, ill add tags as i go, im doing my best, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapdragonpop007/pseuds/snapdragonpop007
Summary: Tinsley had never wanted to go back home--he had closed that chapter of his life and burned it and started an entirely new book.And then a case brings him back to Fayetteville, and as hard as Tinsley tries to leave, he finds himself stuck there, caught up in old cases and old blood and a man named Ricky Goldsworth.





	1. Chapter 1

He never liked small towns. They all had their little five and dime stores, the church everyone went to on Sunday, the tiny family owned diner—but there was always something more to them, some deep dark secrets that the townsfolk would rather be skinned alive than give up. Something that—if it leaked and spilled over—could rip apart the carefully constructed seams of social standing and lies and promises. 

Keddie had been like that. 

Keddie had had secrets too big for a town so small, and Tinsley had gotten his hands just as bloody as Mr. Sharps’ digging them up and ripping apart the seams. Even in the face of murder, the town still refused to give up her secrets to a stranger without a fight. 

But that, as Tinsley knew, was the way small towns worked, and this was the way that Fayetteville had always worked. It had secrets and ghosts of memories Tinsley would rather forget—but here he was again, chasing his dead dreams and an art thief that no one had ever seemed to hear of.

“I’d never thought I’d see your sorry mug here again.” 

“Hello, Holly.” 

Holly hadn’t changed much these past five years. Her eyes were still a bright green, her face still soft, her frown and scowls still sharp enough to make him bleed.

If there had been anything Tinsley had loved about her, it had been the green of her eyes. 

“What is it this time?” She asked. “Serial killer? Spree murderer? Cold case?”

She had stopped clacking away at the typewriter, leaving the little lobby space in a cold silence. The ring Tinsley had given her all those years ago was gone, leaving behind pale and flawless skin. He didn’t know why he still expected it to be there. 

“Is Leeds in?” Tinsley shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to look at her any longer--he didn’t think that he could. He couldn't handle the guilt that filled his chest.

“Of course that’s what you came back for.” Holly seemed to deflate. She took a deep breath, raising her hands to her typewriter again. She didn’t press any keys. “He’s where he always is, Clyde.” 

Tinsley blinked slowly at her, then brushed past her desk and into the back hall. The breath he held finally escaped his lungs. This part of the station, much like Holly, hadn’t changed either. The walls were still that god awful tan that made Tinsley want to gouge his eyes out, the carpet still green and worn and frayed in the corners, the ceiling tiles still sagging and spotted with water and still smelling faintly of mildew, the door to Leeds office still the only thing here that looked up-kept. 

And Tinsley still hated it.

“Why, if it isn’t Clyde Credence Tinsley!” Richards Leeds hadn’t changed either. He still had a red face, a large belly and an entirely too optimistic look on the world. “What brings you back to our humble little burg?” 

“An art thief.” Tinsley looked around the office, electing to stay standing. 

The photographs on the wall had changed slightly. There were pictures of a son graduating and another just starting school. The pictures of his daughter were gone.

“Art thief, huh? That’s not really up your ally, Clyde.” The chair Leeds sat in creaked underneath his weight. “You sure Holly didn’t drag you back?”

“I haven’t been a homicide detective in five years, Richard.” Tinsley frowned and looked away from the wall, swallowing harshly. “And Holly had nothing to do with it.” 

Leeds hummed, crossing his arms behind his head. Tinsley could see the sweat stains and the strain and stretch on the seams. “Hell of a woman you let go there.”

Tinsley said nothing. 

“Look, Clyde—“

“What do you know about Banjo McClintock.” Tinsley didn’t give Leeds a chance to talk. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t want his old boss to berate him for what he did five years ago when Tinsley already did it to himself.

Leeds looked thrown off by the question. “Nothing. I’ve never heard that name before.” 

Tinsley bit the inside of his cheek. 

It was the answer everyone else had given him. 

“Look—“

“Do you know if anyone is selling art pieces around town?” Tinsley pressed on. 

Leeds frowned. “No. I don’t. Clyde, sit down—“ 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Richard.” Tinsley sap it out, refusing to feel guilt at the jolt that passed over Leeds face.

“Alright. We won’t talk about it.” Leeds held up his hands in surrender. “Just--sit down for a spell. Catch me up on what you’ve been doing with your life.”

Tinsley thought about Keddie. 

“I’d rather not.” 

“Clyde—“

“I just want to do my job and get out of here, Richard.” Tinsley knew he sounded harsh, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a right damn. 

He had never wanted to come back to Fayetteville. There were too many memories and ghosts in this place, and Tinsley couldn’t stand to look at them. No one could stand to look at him either, still bitter about the Sodder’s and the blood that he had let stain the soil. Tinsley would never have come back if he could have helped it, but he was here now and he was going to make this as quick as he possibly could.

Get in. Get out. Never come back.

Leeds sighed. “You can talk to Ms. Goldsworth. She’s the only one with enough money to buy the kinda art your talking about.” 

It was a name he didn’t recognize. “Where can I find her?”

“The mayor's house.” 

Tinsley nodded, then spun on his heel and marched out of the room before Leeds could get anything else in. He passed by Holly again, who paused in her typing to look up at him.

“I still have the ring, Clyde.” she said.

Tinsley paused, his fingers curled around the door handle. She still had it--five years and she still had it. That meant she still had hope for something Tinsey had burned and swallowed and drowned long before it even started. 

“You should just throw it away.” Tinsley yanked the door open. The tang of river water hit his tongue, and his bit his cheek to hold it in. “You won’t need it.” 

The silence of the lobby followed him out.

 

—

 

“A private detective, hm?”

Lucy Goldsworth was a small and petite woman. 

Her hair was as black as the night sky, cut in a bob and bouncing with every head turn. Her skin was tanned, kissed by the West Virginia sun. She didn’t even clear Tinsley’s shoulder, but she exuded confidence like she did. She had stood once to greet him when Tinsley came in the room, then she had sat back at her easel, back to him as she picked up her brushes again. 

Intimidated wasn’t quite what Tinsley was feeling, but he wasn’t frightened enough to feel threatened either. 

Lucy looked back at him, ruby red lips pulled in a smile. “I’ve never met one before.” 

“It’s not nearly as exciting as we make it sound.” Tinsley offered a tight smile in response.

He had asked around town about Lucy Goldsworth before he went to the house, not being stupid enough to just come charging in. She was an incredibly wealthy woman, well integrated in the community and well liked by just about everyone. She had arrived in Fayetteville a few days after Tinsley had left it, moving in with the mayor and settling in like she had always been there. She went to church, donated money to the community, hosted parties and was everything an upstanding citizen could be. Tinsley had heard nothing but praises about Lucy Goldsworth. 

Her son was a different story. 

“Well, it’s exciting enough to bring you to me, Mr. Tinsley.” Lucy set her paintbrush down, and stood. She smoothed out the wrinkles in the skirt she wore, the fabric falling around her legs in an almost deliberate way. “What can I do to help you?” 

“Do you know anyone by the name of Banjo McClintock?”

Lucy stilled, her hands pausing for a brief moment before coming to fall at her sides. “I’m afraid that I don’t, Mr. Tinsley.” 

She was lying. 

“Is he important?”

Tinsley narrowed his eyes. “I just need to ask him a few questions, that’s all.

“Oh.” Lucy blinked once. “I can ask my son if he knows him, if you would like.”

“No, that’s alright.” Tinsley swallowed. If she lied, then her son would too, and that would get Tinsley nowhere. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Goldsworth.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Tinsley felt her eyes on him as he opened the door and stepped out of the studio. He closed the door softly behind him, taking a deep breath as he slid his hand from the handle. Tinsley looked around the hall, taking into account the lack of photographs on the walls and the cleanliness. It was a well kept house--so well kept that it almost looked like no one lived here.

Tinsley pushed himself off the door.

He thought, perhaps, that he would have enough time to look around the house before Ms. Goldsworth caught on. 

“You look a little frazzled.” 

Tinsley jumped, tearing his gaze off the walls. 

“Did _Mama_ frighten you?” a man who looked almost exactly like Lucy was leaning against the entrance wall of the hall, a grin splitting his lips.

“No, No Ms. Goldsworth didn’t--I was just lost in thought.” 

“I’m sure you were.” the man hummed, eyes slowly trailing down Tinsley’s figure. They paused on his legs, and Tinsley had a moment to look the man over before he looked back up. “I’m Ricky.”

Tinsley faltered for just a second. “Clyde.” 

The things Tinsley had heard about Ricky Goldsworth didn’t match the appearance Tinsley was presented with. 

Ricky was clean shaven and dressed in a loose button up and slacks that looked painted on. His hair--the same dark shade as Lucy’s--was tousled artfully, his skin a shade darker than his mothers, his smile looking something sweet from this far away. He was slender, yet Tinsley could see hard muscle as Ricky shifted and rolled up his sleeves.

Ricky Goldsworth was attractive. You would have to be blind not to see it.

Yet the people in town called him a devil, accused him of murder and thought it wouldn’t be a shame if someone killed him in kind. Ricky Goldsworth was violent, he was unstable, some called him queer--he was the exact opposite of everything good they had to say about his mother. 

Then Tinsley caught a glimpse of Ricky’s eyes, and suddenly he could believe it. 

“Got a last name to go with that?” Ricky pushed himself off the wall, taking slow and languid strides towards Tinsley.

Tinsley swallowed. “Tinsley. It’s Clyde Tinsley.” 

“Clyde Tinsley.” Ricky repeated it like he was testing it out and wrapping his tongue around the letters and syllables. Then he smiled, something sharp and deadly, stopping in front of Tinsley. “And what brings you here, Clyde Tinsley?” 

The way Ricky said his name sent something pleasant tingling down his spine, while his brain screamed at him to back up. 

“ ‘m just visiting,” Tinsley took a deep breath as Ricky stepped closer--close enough that Tinsley could smell his cologne and something else that was sweet and tangy underneath it. 

Ricky hummed, lifting a hand to place on Tinsley's shoulder. “I’ve never seen you around town before, Clyde Tinsley.” 

“Just got here today, actually.” Tinsley wanted to shove him off and back up, but the way Ricky was looking at him kept him still. He bit his cheek as Rick’s hand trailed down his arm, coming to stop at his wrist. His fingers were warm against Tinsley’s skin, curling around his wrist in a way that was almost threatening. 

They both jumped as the studio door opened. 

“Ricky, _mijo_ , leave him alone.” 

“Sorry, _Mama_.” Ricky stepped back, finger still curled around Tinsley’s wrist, and gave his mother a smile. 

He didn’t sound sorry, and he certainly didn’t look sorry. 

Lucy frowned at her son, but Ricky didn’t make any move to apologize further. He uncurled his fingers, trailing his fingertips along the tendon in Tinsley’s wrist before pulling away.

“It’s alright,” Tinsley cleared his throat, taking another step back from Ricky and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was just leaving.”

“I’ll walk you out, Mr. Tinsley.” Lucy shot another look at Ricky, then placed a hand on Tinsley’s back and lead him down the hall. Ricky watched them go, eyes wandering down to Tinsley’s legs--he had legs that went on for _days_ \--and taking them in until they rounded the corner. There was a moment of silence before Ricky heard the front door shut, then Lucy came back, still frowning.

“He’s cute.” 

“Don’t even think about it, Ricardo.” Lucy snapped back, opening the door to her studio.

Ricky smiled, sliding into the room after her. “Why? He law enforcement?”

Lucy shot a frown over her shoulder. “A detective.”

“Even better.” Ricky fell into the leather chair, throwing his legs over the arm. He took out his pack of smokes, popping one in his mouth. He didn’t light it—just let the taste of nicotine coat his tongue. His mother hated the way the smoke curled and sunk into the room, and Ricky was sure she would smack him if he dared light it in her studio. “Do you know where he’s staying?” 

“Ricky—“ Lucy’s tone was hard; final.

“I’ve been cooped up in here for weeks, _Mama_ —“

“For good reason, _mijo_.” Lucy huffed. “You’re doing—what is it your brother says? Thinking with your dick? And get that awful thing out of your mouth.” 

Ricky frowned, taking the cigarette from his mouth and putting it back in the pack. He kicked his legs off the chair arm, sitting up straight. “I just want to talk to him.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Lucy asked, sitting back at her easel. She took up her paintbrush again, dabbing it in a shade of orange that should, quite frankly, be illegal. “Talking?” 

Ricky rolled his eyes. “ _Mama_ —“ 

“I don’t want a repeat, Ricardo.” 

Ricky faltered at that. He blinked slowly, swallowing down a bitter taste that wasn’t from the nicotine. “I’ll be careful.” 

“You said that last time.” Lucy sighed and put the paintbrush down, turning on her stool to look at Ricky. “I just—I worry for you.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Ricky stood. He crossed the room to Lucy, slipping his arms around her and dropping his chin to her shoulder. “I _do_ know how to take care of myself.” 

“I’ll always worry.” Lucy lifted her hand, working her fingers through his hair. “It’s my job.” 

Ricky smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek before looking at the canvas. Lucy was in the midst of painting the river, the canvas a splash of orange and yellow and red in a fiery sunset.“That’s a beautiful painting, _Mama_.”

“Don’t think you can distract me with flattery, Ricky.” her words were hard, but her tone was light and laughing. 

“I would never dream of it.” Ricky kissed her cheek one more time before going back to the chair, falling into it the same way he did before. “What did Mr. Clyde Tinsley want anyway?” 

“He was looking for Banjo.”

“Banjo?” Ricky sat up, bracing his hand on the chair arm. “What did he want with Banjo?” 

“He wouldn’t say.” Lucy looked back at him. “You should be lucky he’s not looking for you, _mijo_.”

It was a clear warning to stay away, to lay low and not repeat past mistakes. 

“Right,” Ricky frowned, tapping his fingers against the leather of the chair. It was sticky against the heat from the open windows, his fingers almost sticking to the fabric. He huffed, then stood, darting out of the studio and down the hall, fingers wrapping around the rail post as he launched himself up the stairs. 

He passed by Elias, who simply sidestepped him before continuing on his way. 

The phone was ringing before Ricky had reached it. 

“Hey, It’s me.” Francesca was speaking before Ricky could offer a hello. “I’ve got someone at the motel you might wanna talk to.”

“Is it Clyde Tinsley?”

There was a beat of silence. “Yeah...how--”

“He was just here,” Ricky cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, cocking his hip and bracing his palm against the little side table that was by the phone. He slid the phone from his shoulder, pressing it against his other ear. “Asking about Banjo.” 

“The hell does he—“ Francesca started, then stopped. “He wasn’t there for you?”

Ricky shook his head. “No. I don’t think he even knew who I was.” 

“Shit—then Banjo’s gotta be in—“

“I think Banjo just stole from the wrong guy.” Ricky cut her off quickly before she could let her imagination run away. “He’ll be fine, Fran. I’ll come down and talk to Clyde and smooth it out.”

Ricky could hear Francesca’s frown. “Ricky, are you sure—“ 

“Yes, I’m sure.” He snapped it out, then huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Even if Tinman was looking for me, he doesn't have any authority. He can’t do anything. He’s a private detective, Fran.”

There was a beat of silence, then a snigger from the other end of the line.

“Tinman?”

Ricky felt heat rising to his cheeks. “Shut up.” 

“He’s a looker, I’ll give you that.” Francesca laughed. “I’ll see you in a bit, Ricky. Try and keep it in your pants this time.”

Then she hug up, leaving Ricky with the operator politely telling him to hang up and a flush in his cheeks that didn’t quite want to go away. He scowled and slammed the phone back on the receiver, spinning on his heel and jogging back down the stairs and going back down the hall to his mother's studio.

He knocked gently before cracking open the door. “ _Mama_?”

Ricky pushed the door open just enough to stick his head in. Lucy was still at her easel, Elias sitting right next to her. “ _Si, mijo_?” 

“I’m going out.” Ricky said. 

“Be careful, Ricky.” this time it was Elias that spoke, glancing at Lucy before looking back at Ricky. “Please.”

Ricky was silent for a moment. 

He had been here for several months now, and he still hardly knew anything about Elias. He knew he was the mayor of this hick town, and he knew he and his mother had a history that went back well before he and Ryan were born, and he knew that Elias had more money than what was strictly given on his salary with no idea how Elias got it.

He also knew that Elias cared greatly for Lucy, and as far as Ricky as concerned that was all he needed to know.

“I will.” Ricky smiled, then ducked back out of the studio. 

 

\--

 

Tinsley had gone to the only motel in Fayetteville, taking the long way there to avoid the police station. 

The vacancy sign had been flashing, so Tinsley had dashed in and all but demanded a room. The woman behind him had given him a smile and twirled her hair around her finger and batted her lashes, which Tinsley had pointedly ignored. He signed his name and handed over some cash and took his key, hurrying way as the woman blinked dumbly at his name in the guest book. 

That had been yesterday, when he first arrived back in Fayetteville. 

His room was in almost as bad of shape as the police station had been. The only thing it didn’t have was the water spots.

Tinsley sighed, sitting on the bed as he shed his coat. 

It was too hot out for it, but Tinsley didn’t want to take the chance that someone might recognize him. 

The bed creaked under him, outright groaning as Tinsley laid back on it. He gave a soft sigh, tucking his arm behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. 

He needed to go back to the mayor's house. He needed to corner Lucy--or Ricky, he supposed--and figure out what they knew about Banjo McClintock. In all honesty, Tinsley wanted to let it go--he _would_ have let it go. Art theft wasn’t his department, but the man was offering a hefty paycheck and Tinsley needed the money. His savings was close to being completely used up.

He could go back to Leeds and see what he knew about the Goldsworths, but that was a dumpster fire Tinsley had no urge to light. 

Tinsley startled as someone knocked on the door. 

“Yes?” he called.

The door cracked open, and then Ricky Goldsworth was sliding into the room with a smile and a hard glint in his eyes. “Hello, Clyde.”

“Mr. Goldsworth.” Tinsley quickly sat up, keeping his eyes on Ricky as he closed the door behind him.

“Call me Ricky, please.” Ricky smiled, and Tinsley could hear the lock click. He pushed himself off the door, circling around the room. He paused at the desk, running his hand along the grain of it, then pushed himself up so he was sitting on the edge. He crossed his legs, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head. “You left so quickly, Clyde. You hardly gave me any time to talk to you.” 

Tinsley narrowed his eyes and bit his cheek. “What do you want?”

“I told you, I just want to talk.” Ricky answered. “I’d love you get to know you better, Clyde.” 

“No you don’t.” 

Ricky’s smile fell. He uncrossed his legs, leaning forward. “Inquisitive, aren’t you?” 

“What do you want?” Tinsley repeated. His hand twitched, calculating how quickly he could reach his gun if and when this went south. 

“I want you to drop your case.” 

Tinsley wasn’t surprised by the request, but he was surprised by the cold tone Ricky took. It was a complete change from the way he had spoken before. “Why?” 

“Banjo is an old friend of mine. I’d hate to see him hurt.” Ricky smiled something almost pleasant. “He won’t be here past tomorrow anyhow.” 

Tinsley let that sink in for a moment. “Then I won’t be either.” 

“You’re going to leave?” Ricky’s smile fell just as quickly as it came. 

“I never had any plans to stay.” Tinsley leveled Ricky with a glare. “A pretty face isn’t going to change that.” 

Then Tinsley realized what he said, and he flushed and looked away from Ricky. He stood quickly, making a move towards the door, but Ricky was faster, it seemed. He caught Tinsley before he reached the door, slamming him against the wall with a hand to his throat. 

“What the fuck—“

“Drop it, Clyde.” 

“I can’t.” Tinsley spat it out, lifting his own hand to try and pry Ricky’s away. 

“I’ll match it. Whatever he offered I’ll match.” Ricky pressed harder against his throat, slotting himself against Tinsley’s chest. 

“You’ll pay me a quarter million?” Tinsley shoved Ricky off, spinning them around so he had Ricky pinned to the wall. They made an audible thud when they crashed into the wall, and who ever had the room next to Tinsley thumped the wall in return. 

Ricky grinned up at him. “Easily, Tinman.” 

Tinsley faltered. 

It was an easy out. It was too easy of an out, but Tinsley didn’t want to be here. It hurt just to breath in the air and to _look_. He saw ghosts everywhere he went, felt something like bitterness every time he looked at someone. He had hated it here then and he hated it here now, and as far as Tinsley was concerned the faster he could get out of Fayetteville the faster he could leave West Virginia all together. 

Tinsley pushed off of Ricky, leaving him draped over the wall as he fell back onto the bed. 

“Tonight. Get me the money tonight.”

“Of course.” Ricky smiled at him. He was back to quiet voices and pleasant smiles. “I’ll meet you back here?” 

“I--Yeah, fine. That’s fine.” Tinsley just wanted him out. 

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Clyde.” Ricky unlocked the door, gave him another smile, then slipped out. 

Tinsley took a deep breath, then waited till he couldn’t hear footsteps anymore before falling back onto the bed and letting it out. 

“Fuck.” Tinsley groaned, rolling over so he could see the clock. He watched the second hand circle around the clock face four times before the phone rang. 

Tinsley contemplated ignoring it and rolling over and taking a nap, but the person next door was thumping on the wall again in agitation. Tinsley scowled, then yanked the phone of the receiver and jammed it against his ear hard enough that it hurt. 

“ _What_?”

“I need you to come down to the station, Tinsley.” Leeds voice filtered through the phone. It sounded frantic and almost frightened. 

Tinsley held back a sigh. “Why?”

“I have a body I need you to look at.”

Tinsley’s grip tightened on the phone. “Richard, I told you I wasn’t doing that shit anymore.” 

“You’re going to want to look at this,” Leeds went quiet. Quiet enough that Tinsley almost couldn’t hear him. “I think it’s him.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So?”

Ricky propped his elbow up on the motel’s front counter, resting his hip against it and dropping his chin in his palm as he gave Francesca a lazy smile. 

Her eyes had nothing on Tinsley’s. His were a dull green, but when the light had hit them just right in the motel room Ricky could see flecks of gold, the green lighting up like the color of the leaves on his _Mama’s_ lemon tree. Ricky had gotten distracted by them—distracted enough that Tinsley flipped their positions and slammed him into the wall. 

“He’s dropping it.” Ricky hummed, moving his hand to rub at his wrist. 

Francesca blinked, dropping her pen and sitting up a little straighter. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Ricky adjusted himself as hopped up on the counter, crossing his legs and leaning back on his palms. He tilted his head, giving Francesca a lazy smile. “He wants to be here even less than I do.” 

“You gonna ask him about it?” Francesca asked, propping her own elbow on the counter and intimidating Ricky’s early posture. 

“I wanna fuck him, Fran, not interrogate him.” 

Francesca’s easy smile dropped. “Ricky…” 

“Jesus fucking—“ Ricky sat up, his lips tugging into a scowl. “I’ve known him for an hour and you’re all on my ass about it—“

“We’re on your ass about it, because the last time you got involved in law enforcement the guy ended up dead and you had to leave New York and I had to follow your sorry ass out here.” Francesca snapped it out, freezing when Ricky tensed, eyes narrowing and fingers curling around the lip of the counter. “Shit—Ricky, I didn’t—“ 

“No. You did. I know what you all thought about him.” Ricky looked away from her, letting her stew in the silence and her own fear for a moment. 

Artemis—his dear, sweet, naive Artemis. 

Ricky hadn’t loved him. He had an infatuation that Artemis mistook for love. 

“I should send flowers.” Ricky mused. 

“No, you shouldn’t.” The tension had passed, and Francesca had that sharp tone back in her voice. Ricky always enjoyed seeing fear splayed across peoples skin, but it always seemed to look wrong on Francesca. “Then your brother really will kill me.” 

Ricky rolled his eyes, pulling his leg up and resting his ankle against his thigh, keeping his fingers curled around the bone. “Ryan’s a pushover.”

“Your experiences with your brother are vastly different than everyone else’s.” Francesca huffed, leaning back down and picking up the pen. “He actually _likes_ you.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that--”

They both perked up when they heard a door slam down the hall, the sound of hurrying footsteps following right after it. Tinsley came out of the hall a moment later, shoving a lighter in his pocket and a cigarette in his mouth as he breezed past them without so much as a glance. Ricky felt a smile tugging at his lips, and he let his eyes sweep up and down Tinsley’s backside as he rushed out the door. He had a nice ass under the clothes—it was a shame he didn’t dress to show it off. 

“Wonder where he went off to.” Francesca tapped her pen against the guest book, then looked back to Ricky. 

Ricky hummed, tapping his finger against his knee. “I don’t know...I can ask him tonight, I suppose.” 

“Tonight?”

“I owe him some money, among other things.” Ricky uncrossed his leg, raising his arms above his head in a stretch before jumping down from the counter. “Speaking of, you should at least try and tell Banjo he’s off the hook when you go over tonight—preferably before you start having sex.”

“You’re just jealous of my stable relationship.” Francesca gave him a sly smile. “My very loving, very stable, very _open_ relationship.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Fran.” Ricky pulled his pack of smokes from his pocket, popping one in his mouth as he shouldered open the door. He paused for a moment to light it, cupping his hand around it to protect the flame from the wind. Then he started a leisurely walk down the street, shaking out his lighter and blowing the smoke up towards the clouds.

He wondered what Tinsley’s cigarette smoke tasted like.

 

—

 

Tinsley was no stranger to murder. 

It had been a constant in his life, something like an unwanted and wholly committed partner. He danced with it at day and grappled with it in his dreams, covered his hands in the blood and stained his skin and teeth with it. There were times that it had seemed like it was the only thing in Tinsley’s life that held any importance—like it was the one thing he was living for. It was a constant fight, and Tinsley came out victorious every time.

There had only been one case Tinsley could never solve. Thats because he wanted to leave it that way. 

“No.” Tinsley stepped back from the coroner’s table and the mangled body laying on it. He wanted to look away, but he never really could. “I don’t care if it’s him. I’m not doing it.” 

“Clyde, please. You’re the only one who ever came close to catching him.” Leeds all but pleaded. “You know him. You know what he’s like.” 

Tinsley had gotten much closer than that. He had looked him in the eye while he held a knife to Tinsley’s throat, pressing blood slicked lips to his cheek and mouth and whispering in his ear and pressing harder and harder against the knife till he drew blood and left behind a silver stringed scar. 

“I don’t work here anymore, Richard.” Tinsley’s hand twitched. 

“We’ll pay you the consultation fee.” It was amazing, Tinsley thought, how quickly people were ready to throw money at him to get what they wanted. “You’re going to be here anyway, Clyde—just—please.” 

Tinsley wanted to tell him that he wasn’t going to be here. He wanted to tell him that he was leaving tonight, and that he would be out of West Virginia by noon tomorrow. 

Instead he said “I’ll think about it.” 

Leeds seemed to collapse under the relief of it. He mumbled _thank you_ 's over and over, clapping Tinsley on the shoulder as the left the room, leaving Tinsley alone with the body. 

He drifted closer to it, like he always did. 

The body was almost unrecognizable--the only definitive thing he could say was that it was male. Head bashed in, chest ripped open, cuts and bruises littering the arms and legs, rope burns around the wrists and ankles and neck--Tinsley couldn’t say with one hundred percent certainty that it was him, but it certainly looked like his work. 

“Is this why you left?”

Tinsley tore his eyes away from the body. 

Holly was standing in the doorway, arms crossed high over her chest as she looked at Tinsley. She looked pretty in this light. It bounced off her curls and laced the brown with honey tones, lighting up the angles of her face and making her eyes look even more green than they already were. 

She nodded at the body. “Because of him?” 

“I left because I hate it here, Holly.” Tinsley looked away from her. He hated looking at her. “The Ripper had nothing do with it.” 

“Even though I was here?” heels clacked against the floor as she came closer. Close enough that Tinsley could smell the sweetness of her perfume. It was sweeter than the way Ricky had smelled. “Wasn’t I enough to make you even want to stay?” 

Tinsley closed his eyes for a moment.

She sounded hopeful. She had that lilt to her voice that she always had when she thought something could be fixed or when she thought she was going to win an argument. 

Neither of those things were going to happen.

“No.” Tinsley opened his eyes. “You weren't.” 

He could hear Holly take in a sharp breath and take a step back. She went as still as he did, standing just behind him and making his neck burn with how hard she was staring at him. 

“Fuck you, Clyde.” She spat it out, then spun on her heel and marched out of the room. 

Tinsley held his breath until he couldn’t. He let it out with a huff, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hated having to be harsh with Holly, but he knew from experience that it was better to crush hope early enough so it couldn’t become dreams. 

Holly deserved better than him anyway. She deserved someone who could actually love her. 

Tinsley let out a soft sigh, carding his fingers through his hair as he swept his eyes over the body one last time. Then he dropped his hand and smacked it against his thigh, relishing the sting of it, then turned slowly on his heel and walked out of the room. He paused in the doorway for a moment, washing the scent of death out of his mouth by taking deep breaths of the stale station air.

He bumped into the coroner a few steps down the hall. He gave Tinsley a look over, then gestured over his shoulder.

“Is it him?”

“I don’t know.” Tinsley took a step back. The man was entirely too close to him. “Looks like it.”

The coroner hummed. He was a small and lanky man, with a rats nest of black hair and tiny beady eyes. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the Goldsworth boy did it.” 

Tinsley frowned. “You think Ricky did it?” 

“His mother pretends to not see it, but there’s something wrong with that boy. He’s got blood staining his hands, I can guarantee you that.” The coroner tilted his head, looking Tinsley over, his eyes shining with judgment. Tinsley fought back the urge to cross his arms over his chest and hide. “You’ll see it if you meet him.” 

Tinsley thought about telling him that he had met Ricky Goldsworth, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Tinsley sidestepped the coroner, hurrying down the hall. He shoved his hand in his pocket, fishing out his pack of smokes and shaking one into his mouth.

He had it lit before he even left the station, breathing in the smoke like it was air. 

Tinsley stood outside the station, holding his cigarette in his mouth and inhaling until he was down to the filter. He dropped it to the cement, grinding it under the heel of his boot as he pulled out the pack again. He shook another cigarette in his mouth, sparking it up and puffing out the smoke he had inhaled. Tinsley’s mouth felt gritty and tasted bitter. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, letting it dangle between his fingers while he swallowed down the taste. 

He got halfway through the cigarette before someone came up to him. 

“Detective?”

Tinsley froze at the voice. 

“Doctor.” he greeted slowly, inhaling the cigarette until he had to stop to take a breath. The smoke slipped through his lips, and he wanted to take it all back and swallow it down. Instead he took another drag, watching the embers flair on the end of the cigarette before turning to watch Dr. Fear. 

“I didn’t know you were back in town.” Dr. Fear gave him a pleasant smile. It put goosebumps on Tinsley’s arms.

Tinsley looked away. “I don’t plan to stay long.” 

“You never do, do you?” Dr. Fear hummed. It was a sound that sent shivers down Tinsley’s spine and set off some primal urge in his brain to run. “Do you plan on going to the Sodder house?”

The question threw Tinsley off. 

“I—no. No, I haven’t thought of going.” Tinsley hadn’t thought of the Sodders in a long time, if he was honest.

“Perhaps you should.” Dr. Fear hummed again. 

“It’s not even there anymore. It’s just ash and dirt.” It was a valid point, but it sounded weak coming from Tinsley’s mouth. Weak and fragile and fearful. Like he always sounded when he spoke to the psychiatrist. 

Dr. Fear smiled at him. Something wide and bright and almost unnatural. “It was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Tinsley.” 

Then he turned and left.

Tinsley lifted his cigarette back to his mouth, hardly noticing the tremble in his hands. He took a drag, gagging on it almost as quickly. He dropped the half smoked thing and crushed it under his boot, coughing out the smoke violently enough for his eyes to water. 

He took in a deep rattling breath, wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks, then took off in the opposite direction Dr. Fear went. 

 

\--

 

“What do you know about a Clyde Tinsley?” Ricky slid into an open chair at the dining room table, throwing the stack of money on it and propping his chin in his palm as he looked at Elias.

Elias looked up from his papers, blinking once at Ricky. His eyes slid to the money--fresh from Ricky’s bank account--before looking back down. “He used to live here, a few years ago.” 

Ricky waited for Elias to continue, but he made no move to do so. He was, as Ricky was quickly discovering, a very slow moving and closed off man. He waited for people to come to him, and then he kept waiting. The only person he ever seemed to open up to was Lucy.

He took a moment to observe the mayor, taking in the pudgy frame, the graying hair and the graying eyes. He looked very unassuming and docile in his spectacles and sweater vests and slacks and loafers, but Ricky knew the cold and calculating gleam in Elias’ eyes. 

He saw it so often in his own.

“And?”

“He packed up and left,” Elias thumbed through a few of the papers. They looked like lists. “We thought someone had finally offed him, for a while.” 

Ricky tapped his finger against the wood of the table, but it seemed Elias was done sharing. Ricky huffed, leaning back in the chair and throwing his arm over the back of it. He tapped his fingers against the chair, bouncing his leg and letting his eyes rake over the flowers and trinkets on the shelves. His mothers work, no doubt. 

“Your brother called.” Elias flipped one page face down, glancing up at Ricky. “I believe Lucy is still speaking with him.” 

Ricky frowned, then pushed himself back and stood from the chair. 

He left the dining room and wandered up the stairs, his mother’s voice floating down to him. She was speaking in soft Spanish, holding the phone close to her cheek. She had a soft smile on her lips, the one she reserved just for her sons. 

Ricky crept closer, giving his mother a smile when she spotted him.

“Your _hermano_ is here, _chiquito_.” There was a beat of silence, then Lucy handed the phone off to Ricky, brushing her fingers against his arm as she went back down the stairs. 

“Ryan.” Ricky greeted.

“Are you being good to _Mama_?” 

“I’m always good to _Mama_.” Ricky leaned against the side table, crossing his legs and bracing his palm against the edge of the table. “Were _you_ being good to _Mama_?” 

Ryan scoffed. Ricky could hear background chatter and the sound of something breaking, and Ryan shouted a few obscenities in both English and Spanish before turning his focus back on Ricky. “You’re staying out of trouble, aren’t you?”

Ricky hummed. “For the most part.” 

“Ricky, I swear to fuck--”

“He’s leaving tonight, Ryan, calm down.” Ricky twirled the phone cord around his finger, feeling a smile tug at his lips as he thought of the detective. “I’ll have my fun, and that’ll be that.” 

" _He_?" Ryan took in a sharp breath. “If I have to fucking come down there--”

“You won’t have too, _pachuco_.” Ricky rolled his eyes. “You should though--Fran is missing you terribly.”

“I’ll believe that when you can learn to keep your dick in your pants.” 

Ricky laughed, letting it trail off into a soft sigh. “And how is your dear Legs doing?” 

“Still cleaning up your goddamn mess.” Ryan’s voice went a little softer. Ricky could hear the small smile that he was sure was on Ryan’s lips. “He’s trying to go as quick as he can.” 

“He can take his time.” Ricky hummed. 

Ryan scoffed, any trace of fondness in his voice gone. “You’re too soft on him, Ricky.” 

“No more than you are, I’m sure.” Ricky grinned at Ryan’s sputter. “Give him a kiss for me.” 

Ricky hung up while Ryan was still cursing him out. He tapped his finger against the table once, then pushed himself off and wandered back down to the dining room. 

Both Elias and his stack of papers were gone, but the money was still on the table. Ricky could hear muffled voices coming from the general direction of the studio. He cocked his head in thought, debating with himself if he should tell Lucy and Elias where he was going. 

He started humming, some old lullaby his mother used to sing to him and Ryan, swiping the money off the table. 

 

\--

 

Somewhere along the way back to the motel Tinsley had gotten a bottle of whiskey. 

He had smoked another cigarette and gone through half the bottle in a desperate attempt to ebb away that lingering feeling of fear and to get his hands to stop shaking. It hadn’t quite worked, but Tinsley still cradled the bottle close to his chest as he shoved open the motel front door.

The woman from before--the one with the long black hair--was gone. 

Tinsley squinted at the new desk clerk. She looked younger, and, he realized with a sharp pang, she looked like Holly. 

Tinsley hurried past her and to his room. 

He came to an abrupt halt right outside the door.

“Rough day?” Ricky eyed the bottle in Tinsley’s hand, a lazy smile playing at his lips. 

Tinsley found his eyes drifting down to those lips, the bottle falling down to his side. Tinsley licked the taste of nicotine and whiskey from his lips and mouth, swallowing harshly and tightening his fingers on the neck of the bottle. “I ran into someone.” 

“You must not like them very much.” Ricky hummed, taking a step closer to Tinsley. “You gonna invite me in?” 

Tinsley blinked slowly. He was still looking at Ricky’s lips. 

He tore his eyes away, shoving his hand in his pocket and fishing out the keys. It took a few tries for him get it in the lock and a few more to unlock it. He could feel Ricky’s eyes on him the entire time, and when he finally got the door open Ricky pushed past him, fingers brushing along Tinsley’s thigh as he walked into the room. 

Tinsley followed after him, kicking the door shut and dropping both the keys and whiskey on the desk. 

“I have your money, Clyde,” Ricky turned to face him, cocking his hip and pulling a wad of cash from his pocket. “But how do I know I have your promise?” 

“You’ll just have to trust me, I suppose.” Tinsley caught his eyes wandering down Ricky’s frame, snapping them back up before he could wander lower than the waist.

“We could do it the old fashioned way,” Ricky hummed, stepping closer until he was flush against Tinsley’s chest. He brought his hand up, letting his knuckles trail along Tinsley’s cheek before pressing his thumb against Tinsley’s bottom lip. “Seal it with a kiss.”

Tinsley suddenly felt _very_ sober.

His hand snapped up, capturing Ricky’s wrist and yanking his hand away. 

Ricky looked startled, but he schooled his features so quickly that Tinsley wasn’t entirely sure he actually saw it. Ricky curled his fingers to his palm and narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t make a move to step back. 

“I’m not--” Tinsley’s voice died in his throat. 

How often had he said those words? How often had he lied to himself? Had tried so hard to just pretend he was normal?

But that’s what he was supposed to do, wasn’t he?

That’s what Dr. Fear had always said, and look where that got Tinsley. Running away from his fiance and stealing kisses with drunk men behind bars and alleys as he went city to city and state to state because that’s as far as he could ever make himself go. 

Before the guilt and disgust set in. 

“I’ll let you think on it, Tinman.” Tinsley’s grip had gone slack enough that Ricky could slide his wrist free. He patted Tinsley’s cheek while slipping the money into Tinsley’s pocket, gave him a bright smile, then left the room with his hips swaying. 

Tinsley’s mouth felt dry. He blindly reached for the whiskey, taking a long pull before slamming the bottle back on the desk. He held the whiskey in his mouth for a moment, letting it burn before swallowing it. Then he stumbled into the bathroom, almost ripping the curtain down in his haste to turn on the shower. 

He hung over the sink while he waited for the water to heat up, gripping the porcelain hard enough to hurt. 

He refused to look at his reflection in the mirror. 

When the steam was starting to cloud the mirror Tinsley stepped back and shucked off his clothes. Then he stepped into the shower, hissing at the heat but making no move to turn it down. He bit the inside of his cheek, dropping his head against the shower wall and bracing his forearm right by his head. 

He was half hard, and Tinsley knew from experience that it wasn't going to go away. 

So he closed his eyes, took himself in his hand and pretended he wasn’t thinking about how good it felt when Ricky was pressed right up against him. 

 

\--

 

That was not how Ricky was expecting this night to go. 

Ricky stood outside the motel, scowling as he wrestled with his box of cigarettes. He finally got one free and he jammed it in his mouth, letting the taste of paper and nicotine coat his tongue for a few moments before lighting it. 

He could hear Ryan saying _I Told You So_. 

The bitter taste that Ricky always found comfort in wasn’t soothing, so he stomped it out before he took more than a drag, mourning the loss of the cigarette a moment later. 

Making a split second decision, Ricky headed off towards the A&P. It wasn’t quite closed yet, and by the time Ricky got there it would be and George would be off his shift. 

He met him halfway there, and Ricky pulled him into an ally, shoving him against the wall and pressing a bruising kiss to his lips. 

“Your wife home?” Ricky asked.

George shook his head, hands wandering a little too fast for Ricky’s tastes. Ricky pushed him back, then took off in the direction of George’s house with George following after him like a lost puppy. 

When they got to the house, Ricky shoved George onto the couch, working himself open on his dick and squeezing George's throat and pretending that it was Tinsley squirming underneath him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll rn so I'm just gonna keep riding that until I run out of steam


	3. Chapter 3

Tinsley woke with his mouth feeling like sandpaper and tasting like vomit. His head was threatening to split open from the pain of his headache —it felt like an ice pick was being ground in his eye.

He let out a low groan, and when he turned over he found the culprit.

The whiskey bottle was empty. 

Tinsley blinked dumbly at it, fingers curling into the sheets as his vision evened out and the stars dancing in his eyes faded. 

He was surprised it took him this long to get drunk, honestly. 

Tinsley heaved a sigh, rolling over onto his back and pushing himself into a sitting position. His head screamed at him, and Tinsley blindly fumbled for the bottle of aspirin he had stashed in the nightstand drawer. He struggled with the cap for a moment, then popped three in his mouth and bit down on them. 

It was an incredibly bitter taste, but Tinsley was so used to it that it hardly even phased him. 

He got off the bed, chewing and grinding the pills between his teeth as he went to the bathroom. There was a towel on the floor that he kicked to the side, and he stepped over his pile of clothes to get to the sink. Tinsley turned it on and swallowed the chunks of powder in his mouth, bending down and drinking straight from the faucet. 

The water had a metallic tang to it. 

Tinsley took a few more gulps before pulling back, looking up at the mirror and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He looked like a right mess, if he could allow himself to be honest. 

His hair was a rats nest, the perpetual bags under his eyes looking almost black in the bathroom lighting. He needed a shave, and a bruise was blooming on his neck--five purple spots right where Ricky had squeezed his throat. 

Tinsley sighed, bringing his hand up and dragging it down his face.

At least he had bothered to put his boxers back on before falling into bed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, scenes from his memory and nightmares flashing across them. Keddie, the cabin, the bodies and the blood, that damn _knife_ \--

Tinsley snapped his eyes open. 

The past just didn’t seem to want to die, did it?

Tinsley pushed himself off the sink, flicking the light off as he left the bathroom. 

He should just tell Leeds that he was leaving. He should just say _sorry you’re on your own_ before he got tangled back up in the case. He should just pack up, give his room keys back, jump in his car and drive away before he got too involved with the town again.

But Tinsley _needed_ to know. 

“Fuck,” Tinsley hissed it out as he fell back on the bed. He dug his fingers in his hair and gave it a sharp tug, which only set his headache off again. 

He needed coffee. 

 

—

 

Ricky pushed his way into the diner, the twinkling of the bell a pleasant sound in his ears. 

He had fallen asleep after a few rounds of sex, waking up abruptly in the early morning. He had slipped into his clothes and left, wandering around town for a while before slipping into the diner. He wasn’t one for mornings after and attachments and pillow talk. 

Although, he had indulged Artemis with it for a while. 

Ricky looked around, taking in the vinyl seats and grease stained tables and counters and the tacky photos on the walls, then paused on the slumped form of Tinsley.

He was in a booth, chin resting in his palm as he gazed blankly out the window, the early morning light throwing a soft glow on his face. A cup of coffee was in his hand, and a half eaten plate of eggs was pushed off to the side. He looked like he was wearing the same clothes from last night, and Ricky noticed with a thrill a bruise peeking out from his shirt collar. 

Ricky grinned at the sheer delight of it. 

“Detective!” 

Tinsley startled, coffee splashing out of his mug and onto his hand. His head snapped up to look at Ricky. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, and Ricky felt his grin slip into a smile as he crossed the diner floor.

“I’m surprised to still see you here.” Ricky slid into the booth, hooking his fingers around the handle of the coffee mug as Tinsley yanked a handful of napkins from the dispenser. “I thought you’d be gone by now.” 

Ricky watched Tinsley wipe his hand down, leaving an angry red splotch behind. He gently slid the mug across the table, raising it to his mouth and taking a sip. 

It was ridiculously bitter. 

Ricky had to force himself to swallow it.

“...so am I.” Tinsley’s words sounded almost slurred. His eyes followed Ricky’s movements as he set the mug down and reached for the sugar, nose crinkling as Ricky ripped open a sugar packet and dumped it in the coffee. “What are you doing?” 

Ricky ignored him, reaching forward to slip the spoon from the napkin. 

“Change your mind so soon?” Ricky continued on, dunking the spoon in the coffee and giving it a few slow turns. 

Tinsley blinked slowly. He looked lost, eyes shining as he tried to piece together what exactly was going on. His brow wrinkled in thought, and he brought a hand up to his mouth, running his thumb along his lower lip as his eyes followed Ricky’s movements. 

It was almost endearing. 

“Something came up.” Tinsley spoke slowly. His voice was still filled with that sleepy gravel, sending a sharp shiver down Ricky’s spine. 

“Oh?” Ricky brought the mug to his lips again. 

Ricky didn’t indulge in pillow talk, but if he could listen to that voice...

Tinsley seemed to finally snap awake and he took the mug back from Ricky. He wrapped his fingers around it, his scowl looking more like a cornered snarling animal. 

Ricky hummed. He crossed his ankles and lifted a hand to flag down the waitress. She looked nervous, clicking her pen and holding her notepad in front of her face like a shield. 

“Can I get a cup of coffee?” He gave her a smile. 

“Y—Yeah. Of course.” She scurried off, coming back a moment later with a mug and a coffee pot. Ricky watched her pour, giving her another smile as she finished and rushed off again. 

He slid the sugar packets back over to him.

“Well, it was nice talking to you—“

“Oh, you can’t leave yet, Clyde.” Ricky looked back up at Tinsley. He fixed him with a look, holding him there with a smile. “At least wait till I finish my coffee.” 

Tinsley frowned. He looked down at his coffee mug, holding it a little tighter. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Ricky followed the movement. He could have had that last night—that tongue and those long legs and those fingers—

Ricky broke his gaze. He still had time. 

“How was your night?” Ricky asked. “Did you sleep well?” 

Tinsley pressed his lips together in a thin line. “What the hell do you want, Ricky?” 

“I told you, didn’t I?” Ricky took a small sip from his mug. It burned his tongue, but he refused to pull it back right away. “I want to get to know you.”

“And then you said you didn’t.” Tinsley frowned. “You want me gone, Ricky.”

Ricky shrugged. “I lied.” 

“You lied.” Tinsley didn’t say it like a question. He said it like a fact, full of exasperation and resignation and something that sounded almost like fear.

“We all lie, Clyde.” Ricky set his mug down, keeping his fingers loosely curled around the handle. “You’ve done your fair share of it, I’m sure.” 

That seemed to strike a chord with the detective. He looked back down at his mug, knuckles white from how tightly he was holding onto it. He seemed to close in on himself--hunching his shoulders and caving his chest in and letting his eyes close. He took a deep breath, holding it in long enough that he gasped it out. Ricky watched, transfixed, as Tinsley seemed to wake up again, this time with a harder glint to his eye and a more steely resolve. 

“I need to get to the station, Ricky.” 

Ricky thought about fighting him. He thought about reaching out and tangling Tinsley’s tie around his fist and holding him there. He thought about squeezing Tinsley’s throat again and leaning forward and seeing if his lips were just as bitter as his coffee. 

Instead Ricky hummed, lifting the mug again and taking a slow sip. “Well, if it’s important…” 

“It is.” Tinsley snapped it out. 

“Don’t let me keep you then.” Ricky smiled at Tinsley over the rim of the mug. 

Tinsley faltered. He looked down at his mug, let it go, then looked back at Ricky. Ricky met his eyes and smiled, taking another sip from his mug. They didn’t break eye contact—not until Tinsley slid from the booth, throwing a dollar down on the table and ducked out of Ricky’s sight. 

The little bell twinkled, then the door slammed shut. 

Ricky took another sip of his coffee. 

Maybe _mama_ was right about this town.

 

—

 

Tinsley’s headache was still hammering away at the front of his skull, and the early morning sunlight he had just stepped into was no help either. He squinted his eyes against it, shoved his hand in his pants pocket and fished out the bottle of aspirin. He popped two more in his mouth and chewed and ground down the hard powder till it coated his mouth. 

Less than 72 hours he had been back in this town, and he had run into Ricky enough times for it to pass the coincidence category and skip right into the danger category.

Tinsley knew about the Goldsworths, of course. Every good cop with even a sliver of good sense knew about the Goldsworths, and Tinsley had more than enough good sense to stay away from them. Had more than enough good sense to steer clear away from New York entirely. He was trying to stay low, and getting involved with big names in big cities was a shoddy way of going about it. 

Taking money from Ricky was as stupid and risky as Tinsley was willing to get. 

He could still leave. Tinsley could still throw his things in his car and tell everyone in this town to fuck themselves and solve their own damn problems. 

He should get out of here before things actually _become_ a problem. 

Tinsley ran his tongue over his teeth and stuck his hand further in his pocket, pulling out a half smoked cigarette and his lighter. His teeth were gritty from the pills and the sugar, and he couldn’t quite get the after taste to leave his tongue.

He popped the cigarette in his mouth, cupping his hand around it as he lit it and wished the nicotine would take the strange aftertaste away. 

Maybe it would, if he was lucky enough.

But when had Tinsley ever been lucky? 

He sighed, shoving one hand in his pocket and using the other to hold the cigarette close to his lips as he blew out the smoke. He watched it float around before fading away, then took off in the opposite direction of the police station. 

If Tinsley was going to be around ghosts, he might as well see a few on his own terms. 

 

\--

 

The Sodder house hadn’t changed much since Tinsley was last here.

It was still a pile of ash and dirt, still had all those stupid teddy bears and candles and toys in a pile where the front door used to be, and it still made Tinsley’s heart ache.

He could have stopped this. 

Instead all he did was catch an arsonist while the man who orchestrated it walked free with a grin and his army of lawyers and the Sodders buried their children and memories and shed more tears than Tinsley ever wanted to see. 

Tinsley took a deep breath and held it in for as long as he could. 

“You look good when you’re thinking.”

Tinsley blinked, turning his head to look at Ricky.

Ricky grinned. “Not that you don’t always look good. You look more--stoic. Easier to see your features.” 

“Are you following me?” Tinsley asked. 

“What would you do if I said yes?” Ricky sauntered up next to him, settling next to his side like he was always meant to be there. “You’re an interesting man, Clyde.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” 

“No, but I will. People like to talk, and you, Mr. Tinsley, are the talk of the town.” Ricky looked up at him. He really did have a beautiful smile when he was being sincere with it. “But I’m sure you know all about that.” 

Tinsley took a moment to look at Ricky. He was all lithe and poised, wearing his good looks and money not unlike how a snake wears its bright colors. You wanted to get close and look and touch, but the sharp suits and fake smiles warned you off and flashed danger signs overhead. And even if you were stupid enough to get close enough the knives and teeth would send you running. 

Tinsley could only hope he wasn’t that stupid. 

“I'm aware.” he finally said. 

Ricky huffed out a laugh. “Talking is a fundamental flaw in human nature. No one ever knows when to shut up.” 

Tinsley idly wondered if that was a threat. 

“But, if you know how to use it to your advantage…” Ricky glanced at him, giving him a bright smile before turning back to the remains of the Sodder house. “You were involved in this case, weren't you? Elias said you were.” 

Of course Elias did. “...I was the arresting officer.”

Ricky hummed, nodding his head like he was storing the information away. Maybe he was. 

“You were also on the first Ripper case.” Ricky wrinkled his nose. “The Ripper. _Dios_ , that’s such a stupid name.” 

Tinsley was inclined to agree, but he didn’t say so. 

“They think I killed that man.” Ricky continued.

“They do.” Tinsley agreed. 

“Do you think I killed him?” Ricky was looking at him again, head tilted ever so slightly. He looked the very picture of faked innocence at that moment, like a young wife standing over her dead husband asking the officer _why do you think I did this_ with teary eyes and a trembling lip and still holding the knife to her chest. 

Tinsley stayed silent for a moment.

“I think...I think you could have killed him.” he tilted his own head, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. “But I don’t think that you did. You’re here for a reason, Ricky, and I doubt it includes murder.” 

Ricky blinked once, then grinned. “You’re smarter than you look.” 

“I’ll take that as a complement.” Tinsley frowned, and Ricky laughed. 

It was a clear sound, bright and happy and sounding entirely like it was startled out of him. He laughed until it faded into a deep breath and a sigh. 

“I hope you stick around, Clyde.” Ricky’s hand slid up Tinsley’s arm and came to rest on his neck, fingertips falling over the bruises they left behind. “You’ll give me something fun to do.” 

He squeezed just enough to make Tinsley gasp for air, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its taken me like, a hot second to get Tinsley's and Ricky's interactions just right for this chapter  
> and I apologize for that


	4. Chapter 4

Francesca was lying in a shitty motel bed in the shitty motel she worked at, tangled in sheets and limbs and breathing in the smell of nicotine and sex. 

“You can stay longer, baby,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around Banjo’s waist and resting her head against his chest. His heartbeat was a solid rhythm in her ears--one that she took comfort from when ever she could. “Ricky worked out a deal with that detective.” 

Banjo hummed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Ya wan’ me ta stick around?”

“I always want you to stick around, you know that.” Francesca pressed a soft kiss to his neck. 

“Yeah, I do.” Banjo pressed his lips to the top of her head, holding himself there and breathing in the faded scent of her shampoo. It had been far too long since he had been able to see Francesca, let alone take the time to lay with her and love her like this. He had missed it--he had missed her. 

He supposed he had Night Night to thank for that.

“I’ll ‘ave ta send Ricky a thank you card.” Banjo continued. 

Francesca snorted. “I’d love to see that, Ricky Goldsworth getting a thank you card.” 

Banjo smiled. 

“How exactly did our dear Ricky ge’ me off the hook, hm?” he asked, tracing a nonsensical pattern along Francesca’s hip. His accent slipped out more when he was like this, a southern drawl that was the only thing left from his childhood. “Last I checked, there was a pretty large sum of money being offered ta whoever caught me.”

“He matched the price.” Francesca scooted closer to Banjo, plastering herself against his side and hooking her leg with his. “Paid the guy up front and everything.” 

“Guess he was jus’ strapped for cash then,”

“Yeah, I guess…” Francesca trailed off, looking down at the end of the bed and the scattered clothes on the floor. “...I’m worried about him, Banjo.” 

“Ricky is the last person ya need ta be worryin’ about, sweetheart.” 

“I know but...he’s getting way too interested in that detective.” Francesca looked back up at Banjo. He was frowning, knowing full well that when Ricky became interested in anyone things never ended well. “Lucy’s keeping an eye on him, but I don’t--I don’t want this turning into another Artemis.” 

There wasn’t much that Banjo could offer up in the way of comfort. He may be close with Ricky, but he had no control over his actions. He was more then welcome to throw his two cents in, but more often than not Ricky didn’t listen to it. Hell, the only people Ricky actually listened to were his mother and brother, but even then he ignored them more than he listened to them. 

“Lucy’ll talk some sense into ‘em,” Banjo didn’t sound like he believed it. “She usually does.” 

Francesca hummed.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Ricky was here tonight.

 

\--

 

Tinsley sat in his own shitty motel bed, staring out the window and the moon and the bat that had taken to hanging around the window, his fingers gently squeezing the bruises on his neck, trying desperately not to think of the hand that had put them there.

It was late--or early morning, depending on how you look at it. Tinsley chose to think of it as late at night. It made him feel less shitty about himself. 

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight. He had stopped trying to hours ago. 

Tinsley sighed, letting his hand fall and drop back down onto the bed. It lingered there for a moment, then he reached towards the bottle of aspirin. He dumped the bottle onto the sheets, picking a pill from the pile and popping it in his mouth. Then he scooped the rest back into the bottle and chewed. 

He stowed the bottle in his pocket, standing sharply enough for his vision to swim. 

Tinsley grit his teeth, stumbling along to the door as the black faded and his vision readjusted itself. He fell into it, taking a moment to suck in a sharp breath before yanking the door open. 

The hall was empty--not that Tinsley expected anything different--washed in the dull glow of the overhead lights. He could hear some banging and thuds from one room and moaning from another, and he hurried down the hall and out the lobby. 

A shiver shot up his spine as soon as he stepped outside, the night air much colder than the warmth of the motel room.

Tinsley shuddered and shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching in on himself. He debated with himself on going back in and grabbing his coat, but quickly enough he decided against it and pushed his hands further down in his pockets and walked away as quickly as he dared. 

He didn’t know where he was going--he didn’t particularly care where he was going, just as long as he was going. 

He found himself at the river, and while Tinsley didn’t fully remember how he got there, he wasn’t complaining. He took a moment to just stand there, taking in the sounds of the water and the cicadas and the smell of the water and the coolness of the air. It wasn’t altogether pleasant, but it was what Tinsley was familiar with.

He took in a deep breath, then reached into his pocket for his cigarettes.

His hand hit the pill bottle and his lighter, but the carton box was gone. 

“ _Shit_ \--” Tinsley bit back a few other curses, pulling out his lighter as he searched his other pocket.

He came up empty. 

“ _Mi mijo_ doesn’t believe me when I tell him smoking is terrible for him,” Tinsley jumped at the voice. Lucy eyed the lighter in his hands, then looked up and gave him a pleasant smile. “But you’re a smart man, Mr. Tinsley. Surely you know better?” 

Lucy Goldsworth was bundled up in a shawl, her necklace glittering in the moonlight as she walked closer to him. 

“Sure I do,” Tinsley swallowed. “Doesn’t mean I won’t do it.” 

Lucy hummed. She came to stand next to his side, looking almost comically short as she stood next to him. “You seem like you’re in many bad habits.”

“...yeah. I guess I am.” Tinsley looked away from her. He was still holding his lighter. “What are you doing out here this late, Ms. Goldsworth?”

“Looking for sleep, I suppose.” she answered. Then she looked up at him and he looked at her. She was still smiling, but it was not as pleasant as it had once been. “I would imagine you’re doing the same thing.”

Tinsley swallowed and didn’t say anything.

Lucy blinked once, then looked away again.

“How is your search for Banjo going?” she asked.

Tinsley stayed silent for a moment. He stared out at the river, squeezing the lighter as tightly as he could. “I think you know how it’s going.” 

“I do.” he could hear the smile in her words. “Ricky hasn’t been as subtle about his intentions towards you as he thinks he’s been.” 

Tinsley thought he had a good grasp on what those intentions were. He would like to pretend that he didn’t, but if there was one thing that Ricky’s infatuation was teaching him, it was that you couldn’t pretend with someone like him. 

“Mi _mijo_ , he likes you.”

Tinsley frowned. He debated on telling her that he already knew that.

“I’ve only been here for two days, Ms. Goldsworth.” was what he decided on saying.

“And yet he still likes you.” Lucy turned to look at him, her hair bouncing ever so slightly as she tilted her head. “That doesn't happen often, Mr. Tinsley.” 

“I don’t plan on getting close to him.” 

“He won’t let that happen.” her voice held such a commanding tone to it--so vastly different than the soft spoken words she usually used--and Tisnley was shocked enough by it to be pulled in to looking at her. “You know who we are. You know what he is.” 

Tinsley did.

“You should leave now, while he’ll still let you.” 

“I’m trying,” the words sounded weak to Tinsley. 

“Then I suggest you try harder, Mr. Tinsley.” Lucy smiled, then turned on her heel and walked away. 

 

\--

 

Clyde Credience Tinsley was a mystery.

Ricky enjoyed mysteries, and Tinsley was the kind of mystery that Ricky liked the most. 

“I thought your mother asked you to stay away from that detective.”

Ricky was startled by Elias’ voice, but he didn’t jump. “She did.”

Elias was like a ghost, in many ways. He slipped in and out of rooms in the house without a sound, only letting people know he was there if he wanted them to know. 

Ricky looked up from the file he had swiped from the police station and took the cigarette from his mouth. Elias was standing in the entryway of the little library, the firelight casting strange shadows across his face. He looked like a ghost, and Ricky suppressed a shudder and ducked his head back down. 

“Are you not going to listen to her?” Elias asked.

“No.” Ricky answered. He put the cigarette back in his mouth, letting his tongue roll around the butt of it and the ashes float down onto his leg. Tinsley looked so much younger in the file photograph, but no less haunted and broken than he was now. “I like a good mystery, Elias, you know that.” 

And Tinsley was such a good mystery.

Elias said nothing for a while. He glided into the library, passing by the armchair Ricky was lounging in and heading to the fireplace. He stood in front of it, tucking his hands behind his back. 

“Detective Tinsley is not the kind of mystery you want to solve, Ricky.” Elias took the iron poker from it’s stand, moving a few of the logs around to coax the fire into something a little bit warmer and brighter. “And you should put that cigarette out before your mother notices.” 

Ricky wrinkled his nose, but stubbed the smoke out in the ashtray. 

“Why not?” Ricky asked. 

Elias glanced back at him, his eyes hidden by the glare of the light on his glasses. 

“I’ve known Tinsley his entire life.” Elias stood straight, putting the poker back in it’s stand. A fleck of ash fell from it, falling lazily to the floor. He said it like it was the answer, and maybe it was. 

“So?” 

Elias raised his eyebrows. “I’ve known you my entire life as well.” 

Ricky narrowed his eyes. “What are you trying to get at, Elias?” 

“It means that you should trust me when I tell you things, Ricky,” Elias walked back towards the door, letting his hand fall on the frame as he looked back at Ricky. “Try and get some sleep tonight. Your mother worries enough as it is.” 

Ricky watched him go, then glanced back down at the file. 

He had skimmed through it before, picking up bits and pieces about Tinsley’s law enforcement career. He had started out young as a police officer, got promoted to a detective after the Sodder case, and very quickly after that got bumped up to lead homicide detective. 

It was quite impressive, Ricky could admit. Lead homicide detective was a heavy badge to carry, and it must have been a particularly heavy one if Tinsley was seeing a psychiatrist. 

Ricky hummed, running his thumb along Tinsey’s picture one last time before flipping the page. 

Tinsley had been seeing Dr. Fear long before he started his police work--since he was a teenager, if this file was up to date. It didn’t say why, and Ricky was burning to know the reason. People didn’t just see psychiatrists on a whim, and they certainly didn’t do it that young. 

Ricky tapped the paper a few times, picking up the half smoked cigarette and putting it back in his mouth just long enough to taste the nicotine.

The strangest thing about Tinsley, though, was that he left just as he as about to solve the biggest murder case this tiny little place had ever seen. He had packed his bags, left all his notes and case files open on the kitchen counter, got in his car and left in the middle of the night, leaving behind a fiance and an unsolved case. No one knew why, although people were more than happy to speculate.

Some thought that he just couldn’t handle his job anymore. Other’s said he was having an affair. A few people said that he was getting too close to the murderer, and that he was afraid that he was going to die next. A handful of people even though that he was a queer. 

It was an odd concoction of too many beliefs and rumors for Ricky to properly sort though.

“Ricky, _mijo_ , what are you still doing awake?” 

Ricky looked up, a bright smile spreading across his lips as Lucy walked into the library. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He set the file down and stood, enveloping Lucy in a tight hug. Her skin was chilled from the night air, and she smelled faintly like cigarette smoke. 

“It’s one of those nights, it seems.” she pulled back with a soft smile, and it fell as soon as she laid eyes on the file Ricky had left open. “I thought we talked about this--”

“ _Mama_ , I know what I'm doing--”

“What is it about him that’s so interesting to you?” Lucy snapped it out, and Ricky flinched back. “I’ve done my own research, _mijo_ , and he’s nothing but a drunk who ran away from life because he couldn't take it anymore.” 

“You ran away too, _mama_.” As soon as Ricky spat out the words he regretted them, but he refused to take them back. “You ran away from Ryan and me and everything we built as soon as you could.”

They looked at each other, and then Lucy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Don’t expect me to help you when this goes wrong, Ricardo.” 

“ _Mama_ \--” 

Ricky called out to her, but Lucy had already left. 

He scowled, then stomped over to the chair he had been in and picked up the file.

He wanted to break something. He wanted to throw something and watch it shatter into a million pieces, then break something else after that, but Ricky didn’t dare. Instead he picked up the half finished cigarette, lighting it back up and letting the smoke fill the room. 

Then he sat back in the chair, flipping back to Tinsley’s photograph. 

 

\--

 

“I didn’t run away, did I?”

“Of course not,” Elias watched Lucy pace back and forth across the bedroom. “You know that Ricky doesn’t watch his words when he’s angry.”

Lucy didn’t seem to hear him. “But I _did_ , Elias--”

“Lucy,” Elias caught her, pulling her onto the edge of the bed and holding her hands in his. “You weren't given a choice, Lucy, you know that.”

“But they don’t. Ryan and Ricky don’t _know_ ,” her eyes were wide as she looked at him, her voice dropped down to a whisper. “I never told them...I didn’t--I didn’t want to frighten them--” 

Elias knew this. He knew this because Lucy had told him when she first showed up at his doorstep, shaken and frightened and glancing over her shoulder every few seconds while she waited for whoever she was running from to catch up to her. 

“I should tell them,” Lucy continued. “I should tell them before Ricky gets too involved--”

“Detective Tinsley is many things, Lucy, but he is not Elliot.” Elias kept his voice steady, reaching up his hands to hold Lucy as she fell against him. “He will give Ricky just as much trouble as Ricky will give him, of that I have no doubt, but he will not hurt him.” 

“How do you know that?” Lucy whispered. 

“Because I know him as well as I know Ricky.” Elias said.

Tinsley, whether he knew it or not, was just as interested in Ricky as Ricky was in him. They would crash and collide in as violent of a way as they could, and Elias knew he couldn’t stop it, no matter how many warnings he gave Ricky. 

But he knew that they would walk away unscathed by each other's hand. 

This was not the first time he had seen something like this happen, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have...a lot of plot lines and back stories going on...but it does all come together i promise


	5. Chapter 5

Lucy’s words were still rattling around in Tinsley’s head that morning, screaming like warning bells and fire sirens as he walked into the police station. 

“You’re still here.” Holly didn’t sound surprised. She didn’t even look up from her typewriter as he walked in, eyes locked on the ever shifting piece of paper in front of her. 

“Yeah, I am.” Tinsley didn’t look at her either, instead staring at one of the fake plants she insisted on keeping on the front desk. It was dusty, with a cobweb stretching from the pot to one of the leaves. 

There was silence for a moment, filled only with the clicking of keys. 

“He’s in his office.” Holly said.

Tinsley jerked, then nodded, then set off down the hall. 

This was such a bad idea, and he _knew_ it was a bad idea, but Tinsley couldn’t walk away from this again. He wanted to, dear God did he want to, but after Keddie Tinsley knew he wouldn’t let him walk away.

Not again. 

Tinsley didn’t bother to knock, throwing open the door to Leeds’ office with the intent to get out of there as quickly as he could.

“I’ll help with the case,” he announced, not daring to step a food more over the threshold.

Leeds looked startled for a moment, and then is face lit up and he was standing from his chair with plenty of screws squeaking and bones cracking. “That’s wonderful! Tinsley, that’s--”

“I’m not staying after.” Tinsley cut him off. “So don’t get your hopes up.”

Then Tinsley glanced down, and he felt his heart stop for a moment as he locked eyes with Dr. Fear. He was sitting in the chair on the opposite side of Leeds, fingers steepled and elbows resting on the chair arms. He had a lazy smile on his lips, eyes running up and down Tinsley’s body before settling on his face. 

“I was just discussing with Detective Leeds that, if you were to take up this case again, I would like to see you back in my office for our...weekly sessions.” Dr. Fear drew his words out, his smile never slipping and his eyes never glancing away. “I didn't quite seem to get through to you last time.”

Tinsley couldn’t seem to look away either.

“You were in a pretty rough patch last time,” Leeds explained. He sounded apologetic, but he sounded apologetic with everything and very rarely actually meant it. “I don’t want you to--”

“No.” Tinsley was startled with the harshness of his own voice.

“Clyde--”

“I don’t need it.” Tinsley tore his eyes away from Dr. Fear and drug them to Leeds, narrowing his eyes and taking a step back into the hall, feeling his skin crawl. 

Leeds frowned. “I just think--”

“I said no!” Tinsley was dimly aware that his voice was almost loud enough to be a shout, but he didn’t care enough to bring it down. He didn’t think that he could. “I’ll help with the case, but if you even _try_ to make me go back I’m leaving.” 

It was an empty threat, but Tinsley was the only one who knew it.

“Alright, okay--I won’t make you Clyde, if that’s what you want.” Leeds held up his hands, shooting a glance at Dr. Fear. The doctor himself was still looking at Tinsley and still smiling. “I just think it would be a good idea, that’s all.” 

“You think a lot of things are good ideas.” Tinsley spat it out, then spun on his heel and marched out. 

His hands were shaking. 

Tinsley shoved his hand in his pocket, struggling to get a good grip on the bottle of aspirin. He cursed and grit his teeth, stopping in the lobby just long enough to pull the bottle out and wrestle the lid off. 

Holly looked up as he came out of the hall, pausing in her typing for a moment as she looked Tinsley over.

“Are you alright?” she asked. She sounded concerned, and good things never seemed to happen to Tinsley when she sounded like that. “Your hands are--”

“I’m fine.” Tinsley popped three pills in his mouth, grinding down on them hard enough that his jaw clicked and his teeth ached. “Just fucking fantastic.” 

He shoved the bottle back in his pocket and stormed out. 

Tinsley stopped on the sidewalk outside, taking a deep breath and holding it in until it burned and his vision went fuzzy. 

“Well, don’t you look chipper this morning.” Ricky’s voice sounded dangerously close to Tinsley, and he took in another breath and held this one for even longer than the last one. 

“Fuck off.”

“ _Very_ chipper.” he could hear the smile in Ricky’s voice, and when Tinsley opened his eyes Ricky was standing right in front of him, hands in his pockets and lips turned up in a smile. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

Ricky’s shirt was a pale yellow, the collar unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tucking into his slacks. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows as he waited for Tinsley to answer, and Tinsley couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the line of his jaw and down the curve of his neck and to his collarbone. 

Ricky must have noticed, because his smile turned a little bit more coy. 

Tinsley swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “It’s none of your business.” 

“You could make it my business,” Ricky took a step closer. 

“I could.” Tinsley agreed. “I don’t think I want to, though.” 

Ricky laughed, ducking his head down for a moment before looking back up at Tinsley. His eyes were incredibly blue--it was almost like looking up at the sky just before dusk fell, when everything was washed in shades of blue and navy and gray.

Tinsley was stuck with the sudden thought that if this was the only thing he could look at for the rest of his life, he’d be perfectly content with it. 

Then he scowled, and shoved that thought off into the back of his mind.

“Come get coffee with me.” The way Ricky had phased it made it sound more like a demand than a request. 

Tinsley was sure that it was. 

“Do I have a choice?” Tinsley asked. 

“You always have a choice, Clyde.” Ricky’s hand slipped behind Tinsley, resting in the small of his back. It felt warm, and just threatening enough that Tinsley shied away from it. “You just have to make the right one, that’s all.” 

Ricky’s hand pressed down. 

Tinsley swallowed. “Lead the way.” 

 

—

 

They ended up back at the little diner they had been at last time, sitting in the same red striped booth with mugs that looked the same as last time, with the same waitress and the same feeling and tension and weariness. 

Ricky had his leg pressed up against Tinsley’s, and Tinsley stopped trying to pull away a long time ago. 

“Have you decided to stick around?” Ricky asked.

Tinsley looked at him, curling his fingers around his mug and biting his cheek as the porcelain burned his fingertips. “I’m only staying until the case is closed.” 

Ricky hummed. “But not solved?”

Tinsley blinked. 

“No. I guess not.” he looked down at his mug, watching the steam rise and the coffee ripple with the tiny jerks of Tinsley’s hand. 

He wanted more aspirin.

He didn’t want to take more in front of Ricky.

“Do you think you can’t solve it?” Ricky hooked his fingers in the handle of his own mug, sliding it across the table. It skidded across the vinyl and made a noise that grated on Tinsley’s ears, and then Ricky was holding it to his lips and peering at Tinsey over the rim. “Or do you not want to solve it?” 

“Does it matter?” Tinsley asked.

“Maybe,” Ricky took a slow sip from his mug. Tinsley watched the steam curl around his jaw. “Do you want it to matter?” 

Tinsley didn’t say anything for awhile. He drank his own coffee and thought about the pill bottle in his pocket and the police station and the case and Dr. Fear, and he thought about Ricky and Lucy and why he was still here. 

“I talked to your mother last night.” Tinsley finally decided on saying. “She doesn't seem to like me very much.” 

“ _Mama_ doesn’t like a lot of people,” Ricky hummed. His leg slid against Tinsley’s. “She’s just very good at hiding it.” 

“She didn’t try very hard with me.” Tinsley frowned, and Ricky grinned. Tinsley pulled his mug closer to him and jerked his leg back. “Would you happen to know why?” 

“Because someone like you is dangerous to someone like me.” Ricky answered. 

“Then why do you still talk to me?”

Ricky set his mug down and leaned forward, pressing his leg against Tinsley’s again. It was warm and solid, and if Tinsley pressed back he could feel the hard muscles underneath skin and fabric. “Because I like the danger, Clyde, and your particular brand of danger is my favorite.” 

Tinsley looked away. His grip on his mug tightened and he stopped breathing for a moment, holding the air in his lungs till it went stale. Then he let it out and took another deep breath. “Yeah, well, I don’t.” 

Ricky’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes hardened. 

“Whatever this is, Ricky, it needs to stop.” Tinsley continued.

“No.” 

Tinsley narrowed his eyes. “You can’t just tell me no.” 

“Watch me, Tinman.” Ricky’s voice still sounded pleasant, but smile turned to something almost unnatural looking. Then he stood, dug out his wallet and flicked a ten dollar bill onto the table, and then left the diner with swaying hips.

He left Tinsley with a paid bill and the fading scent of sugar and his cologne. 

 

\--

 

“You’re brother is going to kill you, you know.”

Ricky hadn’t gotten very far--had just walked outside the diner door--when Francesca looped her arm through his and forced him to stop, pulling him back onto the bench she was sitting on. 

“Whatever for?” he asked.

Francesca frowned, jerking her head towards the door. “You keep seeing _him_.” 

Ricky glanced into the window. Tinsley was still sitting at the booth, staring hopelessly at the spot Ricky had just been with confusion plastered all over his body. He was still holding his coffee cup, fingers twitching against the handle.

Ricky hummed. 

“Ricky, this is serious,” Francesca pulled him back, forcing him to look at her instead of the object of his new fascination. “You can not keep doing this--”

“Why?” Ricky scowled and yanked his arm free. He could feel his anger flare up like a gallon of gasoline tossed over a fire, could feel it burn his chest and sting his throat. “Give me one good reason why I should stop.” 

“I shouldn’t _have_ to give you a reason--”

Francesca was cut off by someone bustling past them, yanking open the diner door with a franticness that not even Ricky was sure he could manage. He made a beeline right to Tinsley, and Ricky felt a sting of annoyance as Tinsley broke his staring match with the empty booth to look up at him. 

Tinsley’s look of confusion morphed into one of concern as soon as the man started talking--the police chief, Ricky realized--and he set his coffee cup down and stood, reaching into his pocket for a little white bottle. Ricky watched in fascination as Tinsley popped the lid off and tossed a handful of pills into his mouth, following the man out of the diner at a faster pace than what he went in. 

The little bell above the door jingled merrily as Tinsley and the man walked out.

He only glanced at Ricky once as he went past, jaw working as he chewed the pills he had taken, but Ricky’s eyes followed Tinsley until he got in the car with the chief and drove out of sight. 

“What are you going to do, Fran? Call Ryan?” Ricky tore his eyes away from the empty spot where Tinsley had once been, looking back at Francesca with a frown. 

Francesca swallowed. “If you don’t stop.”

Ricky blinked, then stood. 

“Then you have a phone call to make.” he took a pack of smokes from his pocket, shaking one into his mouth before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not that this has anything to do with anything, but I got a cat last weekend and i named him Banjo


	6. Chapter 6

Tinsley stood in front of a body, teeth grinding and hands twitching as half the population of Fayetteville stood behind him. 

“You said you found her how long ago?” Tinsley asked.

“About half an hour.” Leeds was hovering and flirting around him, alternating between keeping the crowd back and peering around Tinsley’s shoulder and looking up at him in hope for answers that Tinsley didn’t have. “I came and got you as soon as we got the call.” 

Tinsley hummed. He distinctly registered a camera flash behind him, and one of the officers running off to confiscate whatever photo was just taken. 

“Some of the boys are saying that Goldsworth boy did it.” Leeds continued.

“Ricky didn’t do it.” Tinsley chewed at the inside of his cheek, tilting his head as his eyes raked over the splayed limbs and twisted neck. 

She had been dumped in the middle of the sidewalk—only moments ago, it had to have been, and whoever had done it had slipped into the crowd seamlessly. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I was with him all morning.” Tinsley snapped it out and shot a glance back at Leeds. “Give me some actual hard facts, Dick, or get out of here and let me work.” 

Tinsley hated how defensive he had gotten, and he quickly turned back around and knelt on the sidewalk to occupy himself with the scene laid out in front of him. 

She was laying face down on the sidewalk, her hair looking like liquid gold on the scuffed gray of concrete. Tinsley pushed her hair off her skin to get a better look at the break—clean and done by someone who was no stranger to the motion— accepting the latex gloves one of the officers was handed him. They stuck to his skin and made it itch as he slipped them on, but Tinsley pushed the uncomfortableness of it to the side and gently rolled the body over. 

For a brief moment he thought it was Holly, and his chest squeezed painfully and his heart jumped to his throat. 

“She looks just like Ms. Horsley.”

Tinsley’s head snapped up, and he stared at the young officer hovering over her before he backed up and scampered off.

“Have you ID’ed her?” Tinsley asked no one in particular. 

“No one touched her until you got here.” Leeds responded. 

Tinsley took in a deep breath and held it. He should have known. He should have _fucking known_ that’s why Leed’s asked him to come, and he should have fucking said no and finished his coffee and kept pretending Ricky wasn’t staring at him from outside the diner and he should have kept pretending that there wasn’t a tiny part of him that liked it. 

He wanted to scream and yell _this isn’t my job anymore_ , but he held his tongue and stared at wide dead eyes until the impulse passed.

Tinsley let his breath out, took in another and then let that one out too. 

“She worked at the motel. Front desk.” He said. “I’m guessing her purse got stolen?” 

“Yeah,” Leeds was back to hovering over his shoulder. He sounded almost guilty. “Do you know her name?”

“No.” 

There was silence between them, filled with the hustle and bustle of the crowd behind them and the officers trying to push them back.

“Look, Clyde—“

“I agreed to help you with the Ripper, Dick. Not going back to my old job,” Tinsley stood sharply, looming over Leeds with a scowl. “Get her to the morgue before your crowd turns into a stampede, yeah?” 

Tinsley pushed past Leeds, throwing his shoulder into Leeds’ to jostle him and send him stumbling back. He shoved his hand in his pocket for the bottle, and he when pulled it out it was empty. Tinsley grit his teeth and dropped it back in his pocket and exchanged it for his box of cigarettes and lighter, jamming one into his mouth and cupping the end with one hand and holding up the lighter.

He caught a glimpse of blue eyes and black hair in the crowd. 

Ricky grinned at him, then slipped away. 

Tinsley stood still, the taste of nicotine and sugar dancing across his tongue. 

 

—

 

“Margot’s dead.”

“Who?” 

Ricky had wandered back to the house and slipped up to the library after his little stint with Tinsley. He had made himself comfortable in the wingback chair with a glass of brandy, throwing his legs over the arm and propping a well worn book up in his lap. 

It was an Agatha Christy novel, one of her Poirot ones, although he hadn’t bothered to actually read the title. 

“Francesca’s friend.” Elias explained. “She worked at the motel.”

Ricky hummed. He still didn’t know the name, but he could put a face to her. Pretty and blond and young, if he was remembering right. Exactly Francesca’s type. “Poor Fran.” 

“Yes. Poor Fran indeed,” Elias glided into the library. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” 

“Oh, _God_ no. I’m not that fucking stupid,” Ricky sat up a little straighter, laying the book across his chest to keep his place. A bit of brandy sloshed out of the glass and onto his hand, and Ricky glared at the liquid dripping onto his shirt before looking back up at Elias. 

“I didn’t think you were.” Elias said. 

“Yes you did,” Ricky shot back. 

“I can admit that I had some concern,” Elias glanced at Ricky for a moment, then turned back to the shelf he was hovering by. “But no. I didn’t think you actually did it.” 

Ricky watched him with narrowed eyes. “...Right.”

“You should call your brother about it, at any rate,” Elias continued, moving down the shelf to look at some other gold embroidered hardback. “I’m sure he will want to know about it.” 

Ricky watched him for a moment longer, then threw the book down on the chair, keeping it cracked open to keep his place. He set the glass down on the little side table and slid from the chair, shooting one last look at Elias before stalking from the library and into the hall and up the stairs to the phone. 

He hated that Elias was right. 

They must have dialed at around the same time, because as soon as the operator connected them Ryan’s voice was filtering through the phone and the background static and shouts of whatever bar he was at.

“Lemme guess,” he said. “Margot’s dead and you’re still trying to fuck a detective.” 

Ricky snorted. “A two for one, _pachuco_.” 

“What the _actual_ fuck, Ricky--?”

“Oh, will you calm down?” Ricky leaned back against the little side table, cradling the phone between his cheek and shoulder. He blinked in surprise at a little piece of paper tucked under the flower vase, and he tugged it free. 

“Does _mama_ know you’re doing this?” Ryan continued on like Ricky hadn’t said a thing. 

Ryan hummed, unfolding the paper. “She tried to scare Clyde off.”

“ _Clyde_?” 

“He’s been trying to avoid me, too,” there was a number and an address on the paper. It wasn’t anything familiar to Ricky, so he folded it back up and slid it under the vase. Then he stood a little straighter, taking the phone back in hand and shifting it to his other ear. “I know what I’m doing, Ry--”

“If he’s trying to avoid you, _why don’t you let him_?” Ryan cut him off and Ricky heaved a sigh. 

“Because I don’t want to.” 

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re not actually that fucking stupid, are you?” Ryan asked. His voice was dripping with a deadpan sarcasm. 

“Oh, like you can talk,” Ricky snapped back. “You’re still talking with Marcille, aren’t you?” 

“Marcille isn’t a god damn detective!” Ryan’s voice wasn’t quite loud enough to be a yell, but it was a very near thing. 

“If you’re just going to yell at me, I’m going to hang up.” Ricky kept his voice level, but he was gripping the phone tight enough to hear the plastic creak. 

“Someone needs to yell at you, _tu cizanero_ ,” still, Ryan took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not going to bail your ass out if you end up in jail.”

They both knew that was a lie, but neither of them said anything. 

Ricky was well aware that getting involved with Tinsley was stupid. He knew that he should listen to Elias and Fran and Ryan and his _mama_ and leave well enough alone and let Tinsley walk out of Fayetteville without a hair harmed on his pretty little head. 

But Ricky was board and Ricky was self-destructive, and Tinsley was a well balanced mix of the two all wrapped up in a neat little bow. 

“You should be able to come back in a few weeks anyway. No sense in worrying about it,” Ryan said the first part to Ricky, and the second to himself. He mumbled something else that Ricky didn’t catch. “I’ll have to have Legs call you.”

“Why can’t I talk to him now?” Ricky rather did miss his brother’s taller counterpart--he was sweet on Legs, he could admit that.

Ryan sighed and Ricky could see the accompanied eye roll. “Because he’s not here right now.” 

Ricky bit back the _fuck you_ resting on the tip of his tounge. 

“Put Elias on the phone, will you?” Ryan wasn’t really asking Ricky, but Ricky was half tempted to tell his brother no anyway. “ _Ricardo_ \--”

Ricky sighed as loudly and as dramatically as he could. He set the phone down on the table, taking his time to walk over to the head of the staircase. He stood there for a moment, glaring at the phone, then he shouted Elias’ name. 

Elias appeared at the foot of the stairs not even a second later. 

“Ryan wants to talk to you,” Ricky said. Then he marched down the stairs and back into the library. 

 

\--

 

Tinsley had wandered back to the station a few hours after Margot’s body had, buzzed and flush from the bottles of beer he had downed at the bar.

“Leeds isn’t here, is he?” he had asked. 

Holly was at the front desk, just like she always was. Her hair was pulled back by two silver clips, her mouth parted ever so slightly and eyes wide as she looked up at Tinsley. She blinked once as she looked him over, lingering on his hands for just a moment before flicking her eyes up to look at his. 

“No, he’s…” she paused for a moment and swallowed. “He’s out.” 

“Thank god,” Tinsley hardly realized that it had slipped past his lips, but it wasn’t like he cared once it was out. He had had more than his fill of Richard Leeds for the day, and Tinsley wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t punch the man if he saw him again.

Holly stayed silent, watching Tinsley walk further into the station and fumble around with his pack of smokes. 

“...are you alright, Clyde?” she finally asked once Tinsley had a cigarette in his mouth and smoke in his lungs. 

Tinsley let the smoke sit in his mouth and coat his tongue and teeth before blowing it back out. “ ‘m just tired, Holly.” 

Holly nodded, looking back down at the typewriter. Her fingers tapped against the keys, but she didn’t press down. She sat there tapping and tapping, the sound grating on Tinsley’s ears. He was about to snap at her to stop, but before he could she stopped herself and looked back up at Tinsley. 

“Alan said she looked like me.”

Tinsley didn’t know who Alan was. If he had to take a guess, he would say that it was the officer hovering around him earlier.

“Yeah, she did,” Tinsley agreed. He took another drag from his cigarette, chewing on the end. “But a lot of girls look like you.” 

“No, I know, I just…” Holly trailed off, her teeth chewing at her lip as she searched for the right words. Tinsley could see a spot of lipstick on her front tooth. “Why don’t you come back to the house?”

Tinsley raised his eyebrows, and Holly quickly continued.

“Just for a drink, that’s all!” she gave him a tight smile. “You look like you could use one, Clyde.” 

The last place Tinsley wanted to be was back at that house, but the promise of good alcohol and a warm couch was too enticing for him to brush aside. 

“Yeah, okay.” he said. 

Holly beamed. 

 

\--

 

The house had not changed much in the five years since Tinsley had bought in and then left it. It still had the little garden out front and the white shutters and the white door and the wooden porch and the floral wallpaper in the living room that reminded Tinsley of his grandmother's house. 

But now, several glasses into a bottle of whiskey, Tinsley hardly noticed. 

Instead, he sat on the couch, staring at Holly with wide eyes as she stared back.

“I just want to know,” she repeated. 

“No you don’t,” he said.

“You _left_ me, Clyde,” Holly scowled, slamming her glass onto the coffee table hard enough for Tinsley to flinch. “It’s not that outlandish for me to want to know why!”

They were both drunk.

“Holly--” Tinsley started, but Holly cut him off.

“Just--just tell me, please.”

It had been a mistake to come over here and it had been a mistake to get comfortable, and since it seemed that Tinsley was in the habit of making mistakes tonight he opened his mouth and instead of feeding Holly a lie he blurted out the truth. 

“I like men, Holly.”

Holly snapped her mouth shut and Tinsley’s stomach sank at the realization of what he just said. 

“What--?”

“I have to go.” Tinsley slammed his glass down next to Holly’s and stood up from the couch fast enough that his vision swam and blackened. 

“Clyde, wait--” Holly tried to reach for him but Tinsley was already out of the living room and in the hall, and he rushed out the door as quickly as he could, slamming it shut hard enough that it rattled in its frame.

The chill of the night air slapped Tinsley’s face, sobering up whatever was left in him to sober up. He took in a few deep breaths, then hurried down the steps and down the street, cursing and screaming the entire way. He couldn't have been more than a block away when a hand slammed into his shoulder, forcing him to back up and halt in his tracks. 

“Hey, Clyde!” the bright blue eyes and blond hair didn't look at all like they belonged to the soft spoken voice addressing Tinsley. “You look frazzled, baby.” 

Tinsley shuddered at the name. 

“Elliot,” he said. He thought he should have sounded relieved. Instead he sounded weary. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Yes you did,” Elliot’s face darkened for a moment, but it passed so quickly that Tinsley wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been noticing things like this for years. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Elliot was smiling again.

Tinsley swallowed. 

“I left you a present,” Elliot continued. “Did you get it?”

“I did.” Tinsley closed his eyes, images of blond hair and broken necks flashing across his eyes. He should have known. “Why did you do it?”

“What does it matter?” Elliot asked. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing along Tinsley’s jaw to the shell of his ear. His breath was warm against Tinsley’s skin, but it only seemed to make him colder. “You didn’t do anything about it in Keddie, baby, and you sure as hell ain’t gonna do anything about it now.”

Elliot pressed a wet kiss to Tinsley’s jaw before pulling back. 

“We’ll get coffee sometime, Clyde.” 

With a threat set firmly in place Elliot clapped Tinsley’s shoulder. He gave it a painful squeeze, smiled, and then walked off. 

Tinsley watched him go, and for a brief moment he had such an intense longing for Ricky that he almost went running off to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ricky and Night Night are their own soap opera


	7. Chapter 7

When Tinsley woke the next morning, he was hunched over the toilet in his motel room and smelling faintly of vomit, and Ricky Goldsworth was sitting on the side of the bathtub.

“The Tinman’s heart beats again,” he greeted. 

Tinsley blinked slowly. He pried himself from the toilet seat and brought his hand up to his face, dragging it down his cheeks and jaw and hoping he could wipe away the dried drool and the migraine and the sleep sand in his eyes and Ricky Goldsworth. 

He was successful with three of them. 

“What the fuck?” Tinsley groaned. 

“You showed up piss drunk on my doorstep last night,” Ricky crossed his leg over the other. He was wearing jeans—a dark blue denim. It looked strange on him. “Mama wouldn’t let you stay, so I took you back here. Made sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit. Not a good look for you, Clyde, I must say.”

“I—“ it took a moment for Tinsley to process those words. 

Getting drunk sounded about right. The last thing Tinsley actually remembered was guzzling down the nearest bottle of alcohol and pushing a handful of aspirin in his mouth. Seeking out Ricky sounded like the bullshit part until Tinsley remembered the disgust he had felt when Elliot put his lips on his skin, the horror and terror at remembering that Holly _knew_ , and how some part of him thought that maybe Ricky could make it all better, that maybe Ricky could make _him_ feel better.

“—shit.” 

Ricky hummed.

“What the fuck did I do?” That was the last thing Tinsley wanted to hear, but if he had to leave again—if he told someone, if he told _Ricky_ —

“Nothing, Tinman. You fell on me as soon as I opened the door, babbled some nonsense and then threw up.” Ricky wrinkled his nose like he could still smell the vomit and booze. He probably could. 

“...sorry.” Tinsley mumbled. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you came to me,” Ricky leaned forward, the scent of his cologne filling Tinsley’s head and making him feel dizzy. “I just want to know why.” 

Tinsley swallowed. “I...I ran into an old friend.”

Ricky blinked. Waited for him to continue. 

“Look, its--it’s not important, okay?” Tinsley braced himself on the toilet seat and hauled himself to his feet. His head spun and he crashed into the wall. He slapped a palm against the subway tiles to steady himself and hoped to god he didn’t go sliding back down to the floor. “So thanks for taking me home, but if you could leave now that would be great.” 

He needed aspirin. Dear fucking _god_ did he need aspirin. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Ricky watched him drag himself over to the medicine cabinet above the sink, making no move to help him. “You showed up drunk off your ass last night, and I want to know why.”

Tinsley gritted his teeth. “I just fucking told you why.”

He opened the cabinet, but there wasn't anything in there. 

“No, you didn’t.”

“Can’t you just mind your own goddamn business?” Tinsley snapped it out, his grip on the cabinet door tightening enough to hurt. “Fucking _Christ_.” 

He slammed the door shut, swaying and leaning over the sink as he lost his balance. He was probably still a little drunk.

Ricky just grinned. “It’s my business to know other peoples business, Clyde.” 

“Fuck you, Ricky,” Tinsley breathed it out, any energy he had left draining out of him in that one breath. “Just...fuck you.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then, “God, you’re fucking sad.” 

Tinsley heard Ricky shift, then the sound of shoes stepping on tile, and then warm hands worked their way onto his shoulders. Tinsley flinched at the feeling (oh god it felt so much like Elliot's _fucking hand_ ), but Ricky kept his hands there and squeezed just enough to snap him back into the moment. 

“I’m going to buy you food and let you get your shit together,” Ricky kept his voice even and Tinsley hated how eagerly he latched onto it. “So brush your teeth, change your clothes--smoke a fucking cigarette if you have to. At least try and look presentable, okay?” 

Tinsley took a deep breath and nodded. 

 

\--

 

His mouth tasted like mint and nicotine, and as soon as the waitress placed a mug of coffee in front of him Tinsley downed half of it in one go. 

Ricky watched him with arched eyebrows. 

“Shut up,” Tinsley mumbled, slamming the mug back on the table. 

His hands were shaking.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ricky hummed, stretching out and slinging his arm across the back of the booth. He picked up his own coffee with his other hand, holding it to his lips for a moment before taking a slow sip. 

“You were going to.”

Tinsley needed to calm the fuck down, and he needed to do it now. Nothing had happened, he hadn’t told Ricky anything, Elliot wasn’t fucking here and Tinsley was fucking fine. 

“You’re shaken up,” Ricky said it like he just realized it. “Are you scared, Clyde?”

Tinsley wanted to snap and yell at him. He took another mouthful of coffee instead. 

He wasn’t scared of Elliot, despite Elliot’s best efforts to make Tinsley so. He was weary of Elliot, disgusted, maybe. Repulsed and angry, certainly, but not scared. It was hard to be scared of someone you loved once. Still loved, if Tinsley could bear to stomach the thought of it.

“No,” Tinsley finally said. “No, I’m not scared.”

“But you _are_ shaken up,” Ricky looked like he had just stumbled upon an early stash of Christmas presents. 

“Why the hell does it matter?” 

“Because you interest me,” Ricky answered. “And because you interest me I want to know why you decided to stumble to my doorstep, drunk, because you were shaken up.” 

Tinsley’s fingers curled tighter around the mug. It was scalding and burning his fingertips but Tinsley refused to let it go. 

“This town is small, but small towns always have big secrets.” Ricky smiled, cocking his head. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Tinsley didn’t say anything. He thought about Elliot and Keddie. He wished he didn’t. 

“But the people—the people have the biggest secrets.” Ricky’s smile fell just as quickly as it came. “So what’s yours, Clyde?” 

“Why don’t you do your own detective work, Ricky?” Tinsley snapped it out. “Since you’re so _interested_ in it.” 

“Because I don’t think you’ll like what I dig up,” at some point Ricky had braced his arms on the table and was leaning across it. He was so close to Tinsley--close enough that he could feel the warmth of Ricky’s breath on his cheek.

Tinsley leaned back, dragging his coffee mug with you. “Why did you come here?”

“What?” Ricky looked taken aback by the question. 

“People don’t come here unless they’re trying to hide or they’re coming back home,” Tinsley frowned, knowing full well he was doing both. “So why are you here?” 

Ricky blinked. Then he smiled, something wicked that should have been covered in a dead man’s blood. It would have looked less frightening if it was. “You just said it, Clyde. I’ve got a dirty little secret, just like you.” 

Tinsley scowled.

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” Ricky taunted. “Quid pro quo, detective.” 

“How about you go fuck yourself, Ricky,” Tinsley braced himself, ready to leave.

“I would much rather you do it,” it was just a flirtatious as it was threatening, but Ricky’s smile was all suggestiveness and coyness wrapped up in a twitch of his lips. “You look like you could go _all_ night long.”

“Go choke on someone else's dick.” Tinsley flipped him off. Then he stood and stormed out of the diner with every intention of going to a pharmacy and buying at least five bottles of aspirin. 

 

—

 

Ricky was still staring at the empty spot across the booth where Tinsley had been sitting several moments after he left. He felt a familiar warmth stirring in his stomach, and Ricky crossed his legs and took a large gulp of his coffee. 

“He certainly knows how to make a scene, doesn't he?” Lucy slid into the spot where Tinsley had just been. 

“ _Mama_ ,” Ricky hoped that she didn’t hear their conversation, but knowing his luck she did. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting Elias for lunch,” she frowned. “I thought I told you to come right home after taking Tinsley back.” 

“You did,” Ricky agreed. 

Lucy’s lips went into a tight line, and then she sighed. “You will be the death of me, _mijo_.” 

“Right, well,” Ricky cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to your lunch.”

“Ricky--” Lucy held out a hand to reach for Ricky, but he dodged her grip and seamlessly slid from the booth. 

“I’ll be home tonight, _mama_ ,” he promised with a kiss to her cheek, and then he was gone.

Lucy let out another soft sigh.

“Tinsley again?” Elias asked. He had a soft smile, and as he slid into the booth he took Lucy’s still outstretched hand in his, holding it tight. Lucy’s own grimace told him everything. “It will be alright, Lucy. Tinsley wouldn’t hurt Ricky even if he wanted to.” 

“I hope you're right, Elias, I really do.”

Elias squeezed Lucy’s hand. “When have I ever been wrong, my dear?” 

Lucy smiled, but did not say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, I did not mean to make a whole chapter with just tinsley and ricky arguing but sometimes these boys do what ever the heck they want to


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m updating from my phone, so I apologize for any formatting mistakes

Elias remembered when Tinsley had been someone who was not quite a man yet, but still someone who could not quite claim that he had left boyhood. 

He had been so young then—younger still, when he first left Fayetteville for the asylum—young enough that Elias had always wondered if Richard Leeds has made a mistake when he set Tinsley loose on the world as an active officer of the law. But it was never Elias’ place to say so, and so he never did. 

And then there had been Elliot. 

Elliot, who had attached himself to Tinsley’s hip with thread and blood and bone. Elliot, who no one could find fault in. Elliot, who everyone seemed to forget had been in the same asylum as Tinsley had been, although they never forgot that Tinsley was there. 

Elliot, who loved Tinsley something deadly. 

But what Elias remembered best was this. 

It was Christmas Eve and Elias, younger than he is now, had sat and watched the snow fall. He thought about how it looked like falling stars, and when his phone rang he had answered it without a second thought. 

“Hello?”

“Elias?” It was Tinsley who answered. He sounded just as weary as he did now, but younger and without the years of cigarette smoke in his lungs. He had always sounded weary--a consequence of years of avoiding hands falling on his skin and digging through his head. “I—I know it’s late but I can’t—I can’t find Elliot.” 

Elias sat up a little straighter. Tinsley had not called him since he came back from Pennhurst. “Can’t find him?” 

“He’s just—he’s just gone,” Tinsley did not yet sound panicked, but Elias could hear it creeping into his tone. “He said he was going to—oh, _fuck._ Fucking shit—Elias, please I need you to— _fuck_ —“

“I’ll be there, Clyde. I’ll be there.” Then Elias hung up, slipped his shoes and coat on, and went out into the falling snow. He had walked to the house Tinsley and Elliot shared because he had not yet known the gravity of the situation, and looking back on it now Elias wished he would have ran. 

When he reached the little house Tinsley and Elliot shared—so unassuming in the snow fall—Tinsley had tugged him inside. His eyes were wild with fear. Fear not for Elliot, but fear for what he was going to do. 

“He’s going to the Sodder’s,” Tinsley whispered it even though there was no need for him to whisper. 

“How do you know?” Elias had asked. 

“Because he—he said he was going to make it stop,” Tinsley was pacing the floor now, carding shaking fingers through his hair. “He said he was going to make sure I would stay home and that I wouldn’t have to deal with this case _anymore_ —“ 

Even as Tinsley said it, it seemed impossible. 

But Elias knew Elliot far better than that. 

“Elias, I think—“

“Get your coat, Clyde.” Elias said. 

He should have said more to Tinsley, but he did not. Instead he stood in the foyer of that tiny unassuming house, waiting for Tinsley to slip into his shoes, to put on his coat, to grab his keys and his gun and his badge and run out of that tiny and unassuming house with shaking hands and wide eyes. 

It was not until after this night that Tinsley would start to chew pills by the handful and wash them down with whiskey to stop his shaking hands. 

 

\--

 

Tinsley had been back in Fayetteville for close to a month now, and Elias hadn’t ever stopped to say hello to him. 

Elias had tried once. 

They had passed each other in the street--Elias not remembering where he was heading to and Tisnely going somewhere Elias could only guess at. Elias had looked at him, offered up a smile and a raised hand in greeting, but Tinsley had looked at him with such contempt and anger in his eyes that Elias took it back and kept walking. 

And Elias couldn’t blame him. 

“You know Detective Tinsley,” Lucy said to him one day, when Ricky had been out and Lucy had been looking blankly at a nearly empty canvas. 

“I do.” he answered. 

Lucy looked away from her canvas and her bright splash of blue to the window, then to him. “How?” 

Elias thought for a moment. 

He could lie by omission. _I knew everyone in town then_. He could tell the honest truth. _He’s my nephew--his mother was my sister and I raised him the better part of his childhood_. He could say nothing, or he could say exactly what Lucy wanted to hear to curb her fears. 

Instead he chose a half truth.

“I knew his mother.” 

Lucy nodded. She was not satisfied with that answer, but for now she would be content with it. 

 

\--

 

What Elias remembered best was this.

He and Tinsley went to the Sodder house that night with the snow falling around them like stars. Tinsley drove like it was the last thing he would ever do, and Elias wanted to tell him it would be alright even though he knew it wouldn’t be. 

Elias had thought that Tinsley had changed since he was young. He thought that he was no longer the little boy who would run up to him with bright eyes and wide smiles, and as they drove to the Sodder house like hell was at their back Elias found himself missing that even thought now was not the time to realize how much he missed that. Elias thought about Elliot too, in that moment, and he thought that as much as Tinsley had changed Elliot had stayed exactly the same. 

They had not even been on the road that the Sodder house sat on when they saw the light and the heat and the flames. 

Elias had thought that Tinsley’s little car couldn’t go any faster, but he had been wrong. 

Tinsley skidded the car to a stop at the end of the drive, kicking up snow and dirt and ice. He got out of the car without even turning it off, slipping and sliding as he ran to the front porch of the Sodder house.

“Clyde, wait--!” Elias called after him, but before Tinsley could go running into the burning house Mr. Sodder came out of it, knocking Tinsley into the snow. Tinsley shoved him off and scrambled back to his feet, but before he could get any further Elias hooked his arm around Tinsley’s waist. 

Tinsley hissed and tried to slip from Elias’ hold, but Elias would not let him. 

Elias would not lose him to this. 

“What if he’s in there?” Tinsley sounded frightened--like he was begging Elias to stop his mother from sending him away all over again.

Tinsley’s face looked so pale in the firelight. 

Elias swallowed. His heart beat in time to the cracking and popping of the wood and the flames, and he did not jump as the house crashed in on itself.

“Then he’s in there.” Elias said. 

He had already lost Tinsley, but Elias would not completely lose him.

Not to this. 

 

\--

 

Elias had not seen Elenore in almost ten years. 

She had moved out of Fayetteville a few weeks after Tinsley had left it, heartbroken over a love for her son that he had never returned. 

Elias never tried to track her down. He never tried to call or write. He certainly never told Tinsley about it. Tinsley had no desire to know what had happened to his mother, and Elias had no desire to tell him. 

There were few people in this word Elias never wanted to see, and his sister Elenore was one of them. 

“You have a sister, don’t you?” Lucy asked.

“Yes,” Elias replied.

They were sitting in the library, basking in the firelight and waiting for Ricky to come home. 

The logs popped and crackled, and Elias thought of burning timber and shattered glass.

“I never did,” Lucy let out a soft laugh. “I was an only child. I had no idea what to expect when I had Ricky and Ryan--I didn’t know how they would act, and I certainly didn’t know how to be a mother to two children.” she went silent for a moment. “...do you think I did something wrong raising them?”

“Why on earth would you think something like that?”

Lucy wouldn’t look at him. “I--Elias, I _left_ them.”

“Because you had to,” Elias leaned forward in his chair, reaching out a hand to place on Lucy’s knee. “You did what a mother is supposed to do.” 

She let out a wet sounding laugh. “I left my children and ran away from a man I didn’t even know.” 

“But I knew him,” Elias said. 

He did not know how Elliot had found Lucy. He did not know what he said to frighten her, to send her running back to him and leave Ricky and Ryan in New York. What he did know what that if Lucy had not complied she would not be sitting here with him right now. 

 

\--

 

Tinsley had sat in the snow and watched the house burn. 

He had watched the house and Elias had watched him, only looking away when he spotted Elliot from the corner of his eye, covered in ash and blood and soot. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Elliot slunk back off. 

The house was embers by the time Tinsley finally spoke. 

“He can’t go to jail, Elias,” he started out calm enough, but by the time Elias looked over at him Tinsley was breathing hard and his eyes were wide. “He--he can’t--”

“He won’t, Clyde.”

“--everything points to him and I can’t--”

“Elliot is not going to jail.” Elias repeated it, placing a hand on Tinsley’s shoulder and forcing him to look at him. 

Tinsley blinked. “You--you could lose your _job_ \--”

“I’d lose it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you safe,” Elias was frightened at how little hesitation he had. “So what do we need to do?” 

They covered up a crime that night--hid evidence and planted others, pointing the blame to a man who still got off free. Tinsley came to Elias’ house a few days later with bruises on his wrists and face, telling him _this doesn't mean you get to come back into my life._ And Elias didn't try to. 

Elliot showed up a few hours later with a split lip and bruises on his arms and neck. He didn’t say anything to Elias, and Elias didn’t say anything to him. 

A few days later Tinsley was handed a shiny new badge and title. Elias was proud of him, but he wasn’t proud of how Tinsley came into it. Tinsley wasn’t either, but he wasn’t about to hand his badge back over to Richard Leeds. 

Elliot had stayed even closer to Tisnley, had stayed further back in the shadows, the blood he had spilt that night never fully washed off his hands. 

Tinsley left a few years later. 

Elliot followed him, taking all the violence and murder that filled this town with him. 

 

\--

 

“The hell’s got you so lost in thought?”

Elias blinked, and looked up at Ricky.

He had bite marks on his throat and shoulders and his hair had escaped its usual meticulous styling. His hip was cocked and his arms crossed as Ricky looked at him, eyes narrowed and tugged into a scowl. 

Elias looked at Lucy--who had drifted to sleep--then back at Ricky.

It was remarkable, really, just how much he looked like her. 

“Mistakes,” Elias answered. “That I’m not sure if I should have made.” 

Some days he regretted covering up Elliot’s crime. Other’s he did not, and Elias was never sure if he should regret it.

Ricky’s scowl deepened into a frown. “You don’t need to be so god damn cryptic all the fucking time.” 

He threw his jacket onto the couch, gave one last scowl to Elias, then stalked out of the library. He could hear Ricky’s footsteps going up the stairs and down the hall, and he winced as the door slammed shut. 

Elias looked at the spot Ricky had been standing in for just a moment longer, then looked to the fireplace. 

The fire had long since gone out, leaving behind only a few burning coals.

Elias thought about popping wood and shattered windows. He thought about Tinsley and Ricky, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to hope for something that he couldn’t quite name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s angsty backstory time


	9. Chapter 9

Tinsley had not seen hide nor hair of Elliot the past few weeks. 

He had thought it something close to a blessing at the time, but now that he sat in the station, watching Leeds scream into the phone about a body and a scene, he wished he had taken it as the warning that it was. 

“I don’t know why you don’t just blame it on that Goldsworth boy.”

Tinsley glanced back at the man standing behind him--the medical examiner--who Tinsley thought was named Warren. He hadn’t spoken more than five words to him since that first day he came back. 

“Just be done with the whole thing.” Warren scowled. He didn’t want Tinsley here, that much was obvious. 

There weren't many who wanted Tinsley here. 

Tinsley frowned. “That’s because Ricky didn’t do it.” 

“And I suppose you know you did?” Warren snapped back.

“No,” _yes_. “But I do know that Ricky didn’t.” 

Tinsley glared and Warren scoffed, each waiting for the other to back down first. Tinsley refused to do so, feeling too defensive of both himself and Ricky to do them the injustice of it. Why, he couldn’t tell you, but before he could question it Warren stepped back and stormed off somewhere else. 

Tinsley let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, then spun on his heel and went off in the opposite direction. He didn’t get very far--Leeds’ clamped a hand down on his shoulder and pulled him back, spinning him around to look at him dead on. 

“We’ve got a scene, Clyde.” he said. “Get in the car.”

Tinsley blinked. He glanced over Leeds’ shoulder to see Warren scowling at him, then looked back at the squat man. 

“Ask nicely next time,” Tinsley shook his shoulder free. “I don’t have to be here, Richard. Remember that.” 

Tinsley gnashed his teeth together and spun back on his heel, digging his hand in his pocket and pulling out his nearly empty bottle of tylenol. He had been popping them like candy ever since Elliot walked up to him in the street and Ricky became a fixture in his daily routine, and he was desperately trying to pretend that he wasn’t. 

He skirted around Holly as he walked out the front door and refused to look at her, chewing the solid pill down to chunks and fine powder. 

 

—

 

“You don’t look very happy, Clyde.” 

Tinsley bit his cheek and didn’t turn around. “Ricky.” 

Ricky slid into the corner of his eye, his pleasant smile looking strange and twisted at the awkward angle. He was dressed to the nines today--a dark gray three piece despite the sweltering summer heat. “Care to share with the class?” 

“I’m in the middle of a murder scene,” Tinsley finally turned to look at Rick. “And you need to get back behind the line.” 

Ricky didn’t move until Tinsley put his hands on Ricky’s shoulders. Then he went willingly, going limp in Tinsley’s hold and letting him steer him and maneuver him back across the police line. He all but melted in Tinsley’s hands, and when Tinsley let Ricky go he almost wanted to take him right back. 

“Meet me tonight.” Ricky said.

Tinsley blinked. “What?”

“Tonight. Meet me out by the river.” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Tinsley leaned in a little closer, and Ricky leaned up to meet him.

He smiled, gently placing his hands on Tinsley’s shoulders. He smoothed out the wrinkles in Tinsley’s shirt, recentered his tie, carded his fingers through Tinsley’s hair to pull it back from his face. 

“What do you think?” 

Ricky smelled like nicotine and smoke and fire, and Tinsley wanted to bury his nose in the crook of Ricky’s neck and just breathe it in. 

“Nine o’ clock, Tinman,” Ricky winked and Tinsley’s heart jumpstarted. “Be there.” 

And then just as quickly as Ricky came, he was gone. 

Tinsley stood there until the breeze took scent and taste of nicotine from his lungs. Then he reached into his pocket for his own cigarettes and lighter. He held one in his mouth while he slid the pack back into his pocket, letting the bitter taste of the filter coat his tongue and teeth before he lit it. 

He flicked his wrist and put the lighter back in his pocket, hating that he hadn’t quite figured out Ricky’s brand of cigarettes. 

Tinsley stubbed the cigarette out when he had filled his lungs with smoke, tucking the barely smoked thing behind his ear. He turned back around, and Warren was looking at him with a scowl and Leeds was looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and a deep frown. 

“Was that Lucy’s boy?” Leeds asked once Tinsley was in earshot.

“Of course it was,” Warren replied for him, spitting out every word like it was a sore in his mouth. “They’ve been all over town together, Dick. Haven’t you seen them?”

“Hey, Warren? Go shove a dick in your mouth.” Tinsley brushed by them. 

He couldn’t even deny it, because he and Ricky _had_ been meeting a lot these past weeks. Most had been accidental--on Tinsley’s part at least. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least of Ricky had been intentionally seeking him out. 

The hand that slammed into Tinsley’s chest wasn’t completely unexpected, but Tinsley’s still grunted in surprise as Warren dragged him back. 

“I ain’t no faggot like you, Tinsley,” Warren growled it, tugging Tinsley by his shirt, pulling him close enough that thier noses were almost touching.

“Thank god for that.” It slipped out before Tinsley could think about it, and Leeds pulled Warren back before he had time to properly regret it. 

“Don’t you dare go starting any fights, Warren. Not here.” Leeds and Warren started at each other, and when Warren looked away Leeds let go of him and let him stalk off. Then he looked back at Tinsley with something he had seen on so many people's faces. “...you’re...you’re not, are you?” 

Leeds’ tone was dangerously close to the one he held with his daughter the day he kicked her out.

“Am I What?” Tinsley knew what he was going to ask, yet still he goaded him on. “A faggot?”

Leeds swallowed.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” Then Tinsley stormed off, towards the body Elliot had left him. 

It was laying in the middle of the street, spread eagle, looking up at the sky with eyes full of fog and fear and a smile just a bloody and jagged as Tinsley’s own beating heart. 

Tinsley sighed, crouching down next to it. 

Black hair and blue eyes stared back up at him.

This was not a warning. 

This was a threat. 

Tinsley took a deep breath and held it until his lungs burned. Then he stood and stalked back to the car they took, hoping that Leeds still kept a flask of bourbon in the back seat. 

 

—

 

The river was soft at night--quiet in its babbling and whispers. It lost its noise and anger it had during the day, falling asleep with the rising moon and twinkling stars right along with the rest of the people who lived by it. 

Tinsley had forgotten that. 

“I didn’t actually think you would come.”

Ricky was sitting underneath the tree by the riverbank, looking at Tinsley with a tilted head and a sly smile. He had lost the suit jacket and waistcoat. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and the first few buttons undone, the white of the fabric glowing in the moonlight. 

Tinsley didn’t reply. 

He walked to the tree, sitting beside Ricky and leaning back against the rough bark. 

“Someone wants you dead.” Tinsley said. He wasn’t looking at Ricky--was gazing out at the river--but Ricky was looking at him. 

“A lot of people want me dead.”

“Yeah, well,” Tinsley swallowed, looked away from the river and back at Ricky. His eyes looked black. “I know this someone.” 

If Ricky was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I didn’t think you cared enough.”

“I didn’t think I did either,” Tinsley whispered it, his words getting lost in the wind. 

And Tinsley truly thought that--thought that he hadn’t cared enough about Ricky to warn him of Elliot. But the longer he stared at those dead blue eyes and matted black hair and the blood stains and the ripped skin the more worried he felt. He wondered if Ricky was alright, wondered if Elliot’s jealousy got the better of him, wondered if Ricky was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. He wondered and he worried, smoked the rest of his pack, then went to the river long before Ricky told him to be there only to find Ricky already waiting for him. 

“Are you going to tell me who it is?”

Tinsley closed his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek and wished he hadn’t finished off his cigarettes. “No.” 

He wanted to.

He should.

He couldn’t.

Ricky hummed. He dug a hand in his pocket, unearthing a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, and when he offered one to Tinsley he snatched it from the box before Ricky could even take it away and shoved it in his mouth quickly enough to almost choke on it. 

“You’re very loyal, Clyde,” Ricky flicked his lighter a few times, letting the flame dance and go out each time he did. Then he lit it again, leaning forward to light Tinsley’s cigarette. “I admire that.” 

Tinsley huffed out a laugh. “Not with him. You wouldn’t admire it with him.” 

He breathed in the smoke and thought about how good it tasted on his tongue. 

Ricky didn’t pull away. He stayed close to Tinsley and Tinsley’s head swam with the scent of Ricky and the taste of the cigarette and how dark Ricky’s eyes looked in the moonlight. Then he reached up, plucked the cigarette from Tinsley’s lips and put in against his own, and Tinslely’s heart started pounding so hard that it hurt. 

“I want to play a game,” Ricky blew the smoke in Tinsley’s face. 

Tinsley didn’t wave the smoke away. “What kind of game?” 

“Twenty questions,” Ricky took one more drag, then handed the smoke back to Tinsley. 

Tinsley put it back in his mouth, swallowed the taste of Ricky and nicotine. He took the cigarette out, licked his lips while looking at Ricky’s, then put it back in his mouth. “I’m not telling you who he is.”

But, _god_ , did he want to.

“I know.” Ricky gave him a lazy smile. “I have other things I want to know about you, Clyde.” 

“Did you get tired of playing detective?”

“No. Just taking a different approach.” Ricky still hadn’t leaned back. 

Tinsley wanted to move back, but he could bring himself to. He wanted to stay close, and he almost hated it. 

“So, will you play with me?” Ricky tilted his head, smiled again, lifted a hand to hover just close enough to Tinsley’s jaw to tingle. “I’ll even let you ask the first question.” 

Tinsley swallowed. “Why did you leave New York?”

“I killed the man who thought he loved me.” Ricky’s fingers fell on Tinsley’s skin. “Why did you leave Fayetteville?” 

“The first time or the second time?”

The only surprise Ricky showed was a quick jerk of his fingers dragging across Tinsley’s cheek. “The first.”

“I went to Penshurst,” Tinsley closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Because Elias wouldn’t--” Tinsley’s voice cracked, and he couldn’t make himself finish. He sucked on the cigarette, breathing it in until he burned away half of the paper.

“And the second?” Ricky sounded breathless, his fingers feeling like a branding iron on his skin. 

“You already asked your question.” Tinslely’s mouth felt dry. 

Ricky smiled. “Are you still going to answer it?” 

“Did you love him?” Tinsley asked this instead of answering. “The man you killed?” 

“No, but I could have.” 

Tinsley took another deep breath, breathed out the smoke and gulped it back down. “I was engaged to--to Holly, and I couldn’t go through with it.” 

That hadn’t been the only reason Tinsley had left. He had left because he couldn’t stand to look at Elias, because his mother still hated him, because Elliot kept leaving bodies around town and Tinsley couldn’t take it anymore and he was too much of a coward to press his gun to his head.

“Why are you so interested in me?” Tinsley asked. 

“Because you remind me of the man I killed.” Ricky’s fingers danced down his neck, curling around the back of it and holding it tightly enough to make it hard to breathe. “Would you let me kiss you?”

Tinsley’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest. “Yes.”

It was a hoarse whisper that had to fight to leave his lips. He wanted to take it back— he _should_ have taken it back—but Tinsley had smoked just enough and drank just enough to not immediately flinch back when Ricky closed the gap between them. 

Ricky closed his eyes but Tinsley kept his open. 

He noticed a scar just above Ricky’s eye, a thin silver line going from his eyebrow to his eyelid. Tinsley lifted his hand, floated his finger over it, then tilted his head and grabbed a fisful of Ricky’s hair and kissed him back. 

Tinsley didn’t kiss him gently. 

He was rough and angry, tugging Ricky’s hair and pulling him closer. Ricky gripped his shoulders and squeezed hard enough to leave behind bruises, and when Tinsley finally snapped out of it and jerked back he tasted blood. 

Ricky grinned, licking his lips clean of the blood Tinsley had left behind. 

“You’ve been drinking,” Ricky said. 

Tinsley stared at him.

He wanted to pull Ricky back. He wanted to push him away. 

“Yeah,” Tinsley spoke softly, the words fighting to leave his throat. “I have.”

Then he stood and walked away, and Ricky didn’t call him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys are getting there. very slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> Ricky is kind of a slut, but that's okay we love him anyway


End file.
